Something Beyond Imagination
by Pandiichan
Summary: AU. What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel but anything would do. His task is to guard Charles Xavier. Eventual Cherik. First Cherik fic.
1. The Newest Angel

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p>AN: Something I wanted to do as my first Cherik fic. Had a different idea but someone had already done it so…yeah. This is likely considered AU for the premise but I mean well. There are slight references about religion and religious curiosity just because of the ideas that make this story but I am in no way intentionally supporting one religion or propagating it. I used a google translator for the German (I don't speak German but a friend of mine does and approved the phrase) for "Alles ist gut" which essentially means "all is good". "Er ist tot," is supposed to mean 'he is dead'.<p>

**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter One: The Newest Angel<p>

It had barely been a month since Erik's mother had been taken from him and the sting of a long, cruel needle was just the reminder he didn't need. Shaw had taken his father and his mother, and even worse had tried to become his new father. The German towered over him with his sharp cheeks and mostly-pale features turned a chalky white in the sallow glow of the experiment room. Fathers did not strap their sons down. Fathers did not HURT their sons.

The routine was something Erik didn't need to think about anymore. A blood test or two and then the task of releasing himself from the metal gurney and several buckles pinning his malnourished body in place existed as his morning. Erik wasn't sure whether to damn or embrace the fact that he was mutant. On the one hand the fact that he was mutant kept Shaw interested in him and allowed him to receive bigger portions to maintain his energy; on the other hand his inability and confusion concerning his mutanism cost him his mother. At eleven and a half Erik was smart enough, old enough, to know he'd rather starve than not understand these "extraordinary genes" that cost him his mother.

He would cry if he could. Now he barely had the energy to cry when it seemed to take all he had to throw the buckles apart. Shaw had a way of draining remorse out of his victims and only leaving hatred behind. Erik wasn't used to such intense hate and such deep-seeded feelings of sheer evil. Experiencing them alone, first hand, to such a degree was very draining in itself but it was worse because he was quickly realizing this is what the world had in store for him.

Mutants would never be accepted. And all around the world, if he ever escaped, there would be other Shaws waiting on him. Wanting to test him. Hurt him. Certain thoughts roused his ability to contort metal, like thinking of his mother or how much the tattoo hurt when they scratched the skin from his arm, and with a previously-withheld sigh Erik collapsed on the table.

Shaw clucked happily, making notes. "Very good Erik," cheered the older man, "but your stamina is poor. We will improve you, my son." He was too tired to correct the man. The first few times he did it one of the two armed soldiers slapped him with the butt of the gun. Shaw stopped that, of course, but Erik retaliated just like he did to the two in the room when Shaw shot his mother. Eventually Shaw quit mandating soldiers to accompany them because Erik was killing too many of them.

Sebastian Shaw could at least say Erik was resourceful. The metal helmets crumpled like soda cans against the soldiers heads until their brains hemorrhaged. Shaw believed Erik inherently knew Germany wouldn't change their style of dress or protective gear to avoid one mutant so he would always have a way to strike back. Each day that passed in the year of 1945 Shaw realized Germany was swiftly losing grounds and eventually the Americans would discover the camps. It was far too late for Germany to change their method of dress or war to suit one mutant when their style worked so well against the enemy.

Beads of sweat dripped down Erik's gaunt face and Shaw helped him up from the table, offering a towel. Erik wiped his face and turned to look at the uncomfortable, horrible, cold table he'd been strapped to just seconds ago. When Shaw turned his back to align his paperwork in the folder only for Erik the young boy forced the straps together so hard he was sure they'd either broken or locked together indefinitely. It was fine by him if he didn't have to get up there again. A look of surprise swept over Shaw's face and he just smiled, eyes twinkling behind his glasses as he clapped Erik on the back.

He was allowed one shower and time to properly dry off before being ordered to redress and go back to work. The sessions with Shaw left Erik very tired and he hardly had strength to lift the pick. Of course he was always grateful that's ALL he had to do because he failed to believe he had strength in his stringy form to push a wheelbarrow like some of the others had to. Not to mention the pick he worked with was made of metal and he could lift it – if there was anything to admit about Shaw's tactics was the fact that they worked, unfortunately – with his powers while the hum of metal in his veins kept him awake. They toiled away as a thin, oppressed people and Erik could only dream of getting a shower and curling into bed with the others as they struggled to stay warm during the night when temperatures dropped low.

Sometimes he thought his ability wasn't a good thing. Metal was cold, after all, and he seemed to be able to feel everything metal in his veins. Maybe he was finally going crazy, Erik concluded, but lying in bed stacked somewhere in the maze of people he really could feel the metal in the room and it felt like ice on his skin. He pulled the ratty cloth closer and wedged his thin body between the older man next to him that couldn't be older than twenty. They were all wasting away, he realized, and although he was thin he was far better off than most of them.

Three of them could probably fit under the same blanket due to the practices of the camp. Without even asking or needing to ask the men that slept to either side of him dragged their brittle limbs out to hang over him. Any warmth through contact he could get, Erik would take. Despite what he could do and what the people around him may NOT be able to do they were still family. Still suffering.

Nights like these when he was on the cusp of sleep and having his last coherent thought for the night he often thought of his mother. Was she okay now that she had passed? No longer suffering? Maybe getting her fill of food and bliss and warmth and love that she couldn't get in the camps? Did she find his father?

Erik tried to remember her as anything other than the gaunt woman with dark under-eyes on a skin-and-bones body that no longer had her gorgeous hair due to malnutrition. Sometimes that worked. Most of the time images of his mother prior to experiencing the camps would hold for a second or two before time flew forward and she deteriorated into something sad with no smile, no hair, sallow color, and clothes far too big to be hers. It was nightmarish sometimes but that was still his mother and even looking frail and sickly her smile could warm him like no blanket could. _"Alles ist gut_," he could still hear her say as if they'd met up for celebration outside like they had only done a handful of times.

He couldn't really believe it but it was comforting enough just to imagine her voice. How could anything be good when he was alone, suffering, starving, tired, and being tested on by a creepy old man? Erik was beginning to think he'd much rather be dead. At least then he could be with his parents. It was cold enough now to where coughing could be heard echoing at random points throughout the night; they tried to tell the soldiers about the cracks in the wood but they wouldn't listen.

Or they ignored them, rather, and Erik could feel the chill wind whistling lowly against the outside. He felt colder now than before, if such a thing was possible and noticed he couldn't feel his toes. It wasn't uncommon for those in the building to sneak toe flesh into the cuffed pajamas of their neighbor for a chance of feeling SOMETHING like heat and Erik managed to wiggle three of his five toes under the twenty-year-olds pant leg. Not that it helped much because the man was just as cold as him but Erik still liked to try. Hardly anyone moved, their bodies too tired to shiver, and Erik only hoped he'd see most of these people wake up in the morning.

Each morning the soldiers would do a sweep and remove the dead bodies, disposing of them. Erik could only hope his neighbors to either side didn't go and that he, himself, didn't go. Or maybe he did want to go. The boy was conflicted. Day by day the Americans seemed to take longer and longer to get to them.

Would it just be easier to play dead until he was finally removed? He thought so but Erik also thought Shaw wouldn't let that happen. Not when he could do what he could with metal. His blue-green eyes closed and the boy tucked his nose into the top of the blanket as he tried to sleep. Maybe tomorrow they'd all wake up and the war would be over.

It was one of the only dreams that survived here.

About six hours later he could hear rustling, groaning, and coughing. The chilly air escaped into the building and Erik knew he had to get up because such a freeze was caused by soldiers infiltrating the rows of beds. He was still so very tired, though, and didn't want to move. They probably wouldn't hit him, Erik ventured, because of what he'd done to their friends and due to direct orders of Shaw. "Er ist tot," he heard the soldier say as the metal of his helmet and gun clanked on his person.

Erik bolted up then, unable to believe what he'd heard. He forcibly peeled his nearly frozen lashes open only to realize he wasn't looking at the ceiling like he did most mornings, or at his building mates like he did other mornings. On the contrary he was looking at himself and the soldier taking his hands from the side of his neck. His head was spinning as he tried to make sense of what had happened while he watched the soldier take his body from the bed and carry the limp thing outdoors with some others that had passed during the night. Was he really dead?

Maybe God _had _heard him. Or maybe it was his mother because he was sure he'd heard her last night. Erik went to follow his body outside – still refusing to think that he was following his body when he should simply be in it. He was starting to think that was all some awful dream and he was fixing to get disciplined for not waking up with the others – but the gentle whisper of _"Alles ist gut…_" stopped him cold. It was his mother's voice, clearer than any memory could be.

He turned, aware he couldn't feel the floor once he 'touched' it and his eyes widened at the sight of his mother standing at the back wall. She was shot; he _saw _her collapse to the floor! Her smile was wide and peaceful like she'd truly forgotten everything she endured and though she didn't have any hair that he could see somehow Erik thought she looked healthier. "Mom?" no one turned to look at him when he spoke and Erik ignored them all as he tentatively crossed the floor, moving towards her. As he closed the distance his heart trembled, especially when his nose picked up the spices she seemed to wear from being in the kitchen all day before the huge nightmare concerning the Germans happened.

This place had taken plenty of things from her but never the smell of spices. Erik could only assume it's because he never wanted her to lose the smell and took it to heart. They were common spices mixed with a smell that was undoubtedly his mother with all of the soap, warmth, and love mixed in. _"Come with me, engel_." she said, offering her hand, "We have somewhere to go."

Cautiously he took it, amazed that he could feel the thin but callused fingers under his own. Her grip was strong and gentle, much like the hands that held his bruises and kissed them when he fell or the arms that rocked him to sleep when he had a nightmare in his younger year. Erik was tempted to cry, unable to believe any of this. "Where are we going?" asked the son as the camp seemed to fall away and his mother walked calmly, smoothly, as if she was just walking to sight-see. He wasn't sure what was happening, or where they were now that he couldn't see any trace of the camps.

"We are already here," she smiled. Erik was greatly puzzled. He saw no change in scenery whatsoever since the camps disappeared. His mother smiled a little larger. "This place is what you make it," his mother tried to explain, "and because you haven't seen anything it looks like nothing."

"I…I don't understand," Erik muttered, baffled. He felt his ears burn because she knew something he didn't – and he felt a little embarrassed – but the gentle pinch to his hand eased the burning.

"Imagine your father." Erik did and was stunned to see him show up not too far away. That was odd. "Now imagine a place you like. I like to imagine our old kitchen," because she liked to cook, Erik thought. His memory of their home – it wasn't large by any means and was a one-story thing – was immaculate to the very shade of the white painting the outside. His heart thundered behind his suspenders and white long-sleeved shirt.

"This place is what you make it," his mother repeated, now better understood.

"What happens here?"

"I'm not quite sure," admitted Mrs. Lehnsherr. "All I know is when I thought of you, when I wanted you here with me, I could hold you again." His eyes widened a bit.

"Is that why I could hear you?" asked Erik as he looked up at her with near childish surprise that she missed. Her son had pretty eyes, his father's eyes.

"I think so," whispered his mother though she didn't know for sure. "I would see you and be happy. All I wanted was to hold you and let you know everything was alright. Last night I did the same but you were so cold, engel, so they let me take you here." Mrs. Lehnsherr gestured around them and Erik licked his lips. He could see anything he wanted up here? Was it really that easy? Joining his father and the old house was his old bed, his favorite books, and a hot bowl of soup because he remembered being dreadfully cold only hours ago.

It was warm in his hands and Erik greedily took a spoonful. He knew it should taste like vegetables and broth but strangely it didn't taste like much of anything. It was just warm. Confused he gently lowered the spoon with his powers and looked questioningly to his mother. She smiled.

"It is all new to you and still new to me," consoled his mother. "We don't have all of our senses here because we do not need them all, or so I could gather."

"What are we here for?" Erik asked.

"To protect," answered his mother with a wide and loving smile. "He will show you someone he would like you to protect, or maybe not to protect but simply look out for because there are _so many _that need Him, engel." For a minute Erik was confused. Angels didn't really exist…did they? Angels seemed to be the thing his mother was describing. Then again he had heard his mother even though she'd been gone a month and he had just looked over his own body as it was carried away so maybe there was such a thing as angels and spirits.

"Do I get to see Him?" Erik whispered, wondering if he should ponder such a thing. According to the Bible no one was supposed to be able to see him. Apparently to see him was akin to being blind.

"No," his mother replied. He could only gather she hadn't seen him either. "But He doesn't need to be seen to act."

There was a moment of silence and Erik took pleasure in looking around this paradise of sorts. The longer and harder he thought the more he was able to see. Most of the people here were family members, like his mother, that he hadn't seen since the camps. Little by little the more he thought he realized previous things he'd wanted to see were disappearing and Erik felt guilty – did this paradise have a space limit? He didn't even think about his mother or what she may have wanted to see because he had been so caught up in what he still couldn't explain.

She had tried to explain it but it still seemed so…dreamy. His family talked about religion but he never would've imagined something like this. "Why is everyone disappearing?"

"He is trying to show you something…"

His family members, even the house and the bed fell away until it was just one person aside from him and his mother. Erik knew the boy wasn't someone from his family because no one in his family had clothes that fine. He was unable to tell how small the boy was – assuming from his hair that it was a boy with the short-cut curls that turned to waves in places where a curl couldn't form – because he was sitting down but imagined the blue pinstripe pajamas must be expensive. They shined like polished shoes and yet looked very delicate. Erik tentatively moved around the sitting boy to better look at him.

Briefly he wondered if his mother had done this. He also wondered if the Pajama Boy would be able to see him this way. The boy was his age, maybe a year younger, with a touch of freckles about his cheeks and nose. He had messy auburn hair that was lighter than Erik's own and it was nicely brushed for a boy who looked ready for bed. His blue eyes were hypnotizing and light like lightning had somehow struck crystal to create a special lit, captivating shade.

"I need a friend who isn't paid to keep me company," Erik heard the boy whisper to himself. He studied the hunched form harder and as he did a room full of books began to appear. It occurred to him this could be how his mother came back to the camps. The floor was completely made of wood that shined with polish and cleanliness but it was darker than the off-white walls and partially hidden with small rugs Erik didn't have a clue as to what they were made of. A book was balanced in his lap and in danger of falling closed as he turned to look out the portion of large window not covered by a curtain.

Erik could see stars amongst the inky blackness and the slightest hint of tree tops. _Is that my job, what He wants? _Wondered the little Lehnsherr, _I have to be his friend_?

"My god," the boy looked stunned and the book clattered the floor. "Did I imagine you? Have I finally tricked _myself_?" the surprised look and large quality his blue eyes took caused Erik to look around cautiously. Did he drift here that easily? Clearly he'd need to work at this whole…spirit business because he was sure he wouldn't be getting his body back anytime soon since that Nazi took it.

"No," Erik said slowly, afraid to approach him as he shifted his weight from foot-to-foot, "I'm real." The boy sucked in a tiny gasp and closed the book as he looked him up and down. "Well," Erik corrected himself, "as real as I can be."

"What do you mean?" asked the boy as he pushed himself to his feet and started to walk towards him. Erik would like to think the young boy would be afraid but he could assume he was simply too curious to obey that theory.

"It's a long story," mumbled Erik with a half-apologetic smile. Honestly he couldn't explain it. Didn't know how and didn't know if he'd be believed. "But…you need a friend, right?" the boy paused. He pinned Erik with those clever blue eyes and gave the smallest of nods.

This boy – whoever he was, his task, Erik imagined – didn't have it in him to be frigid. With his big ears and neatly combed hair he looked hardly harmful and the freckles sprinkled across his baby fat-plump face only added to the idea he was harmless. If anything he looked to Erik with enthusiasm, curiosity, and a long, unanswered hope of company. This room alone was large and Erik could only assume the house and its other rooms would match and just that thought alone led him to see why the boy wanted a friend. Erik had never met anyone who could afford paid help and believed that paid company wasn't a good as genuine company.

All he'd ever known was genuine company because all it had ever been was him, his mother, and father. Until the camps and until now. "Erik Lehnsherr," Erik held out his hand. He wasn't sure if the boy would be able to feel it but he had been able to feel his mother's so…it should work. Not to mention he'd been shown this little boy so Erik would like to think they would be connected.

"Charles Xavier," grinned the little boy widely. Erik was able to see his crooked teeth and couldn't help but give his own tiny smile at the sheer glee in the dimples pockmarking his face. Despite having just met him Erik knew instantly he'd prefer Charles' company to Shaw or the camps any day. "It's nice to meet you, Erik." Said Charles as he finally let go of his hand.

"It's nice to meet you too, Charles."


	2. Settling In

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p>AN: I am so blessed! I didn't think such a story would garner the response that it did but thank you! Thanks to Kahenia, xXStarcastic, and Wragziez for the review to the first chapter. Though they did not review thank you also to 20eKUraN11, Kayilisiase, La Feu Eterne, Petite Amor, and Prisoner of Pain for putting this story on their alert list. donnabella2k7 put it on her favorites list which I also appreciate!<p>

If you have any questions, comments, tips, ideas, etc. feel free to leave them in a review! Reviews do make me smile!

**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter Two: Settling In<p>

Charles couldn't quit grinning the more he looked at Erik. This was BEYOND fascinating to him and yet he wasn't entirely sure Erik had told the truth. He said he wasn't an illusion, that he was real, and yet when Venelda the housemaid finally tracked him down to warn of his impending bedtime she'd passed by Erik without so much as a look. It was like she couldn't see him! Only after she left did Charles think to address Erik who was still standing but paces away in uncertainty.

"I thought you said you were real…" frowned Charles. Erik swallowed. He _was _real! There was a pinch of hurt amongst the fatigue and wonderment in those blue eyes and Erik didn't really like that. Simply because the boy was too open and honest, he told himself, and that honesty amplified the simple emotions he wasn't sure if he could still feel.

Not only that but he was Erik's…well…Erik's. Erik was supposed to be nice to him and causing such a look wasn't the way to do that. Maybe he felt guilty, Erik considered because of that logic, and that guilt convinced him to cautiously ease down beside the boy. He was still surprised to have died, been given a job, and to have crossed over towards this boy so easily when he hadn't been dead very long. "I am," answered Erik as he nodded his head the slightest fraction to prove his innocence.

That seemed to be enough for Charles who eyed him for a few slow, quiet seconds and opened the book in his lap again. "Do you read, Erik?" inquired Charles as he pressed the pages of the book down again to track the line he'd lost when the boy appeared. Erik gave a tiny shrug; he could but his time in the camps had probably made him sloppy. The books he had at the house, though they were his favorites, were his only books and not in the best of conditions.

"I remember reading," said the young Lehnsherr, "but we weren't really allowed to read where I was from." The look Charles gave to his book as he tried to process that statement made Erik laugh. Never had he seen such an elderly thinking face on a little boy. Charles' brows were drawn together, almost all the way across the crease that formed above his nose and his blue eyes scrunched up so tightly that he seemed to almost have them shut. He would probably wish to have them shut if Venelda came back because his tongue was poking out just so from the left corner of his lips. Instantly the look dissolved and Erik could assume his laugh was to blame but slowly – instead of giving him an offended look due to the laugh – Charles smiled.

"You have an interesting laugh," grinned the British child. It actually sounded like a laugh for a boy, Charles thought. His voice still cracked when he laughed and Venelda – despite the others who were too afraid to do so – teased him while remarking that was the only evidence of "Charlie Francis Xavier" left since his parents discovered they were having a boy and amended the feminine name. He didn't believe for a second his parents intended for him to be a girl or had given him a girl name but it was nice Venelda tried to make him smile. The others just gave a fake laugh that made him feel awkward and caused him to question whether or not they actually cared for him or the money his family paid them.

There was a pause. To Charles Erik didn't look like he knew how to accept the compliment. It was something he'd make a note of to talk about later (but only if Erik wanted to). "Thank you…" Erik finally uttered with a semi-stiff half smile that was still more on the side of nervousness than anything else. Charles simply nodded and then looked back to the book in his lap.

"Would you like me to read to you, Erik? I quite like to read." Erik was surprised the boy didn't feel awkward reading to him when so few could see him but he struggled to remember the boy was actually alone in all of this finery. He wasn't even sure what that book was in Charles' lap. None of the books in his house had a bear on it.

"Um..." stuttered Erik, "I…sure. You can read if you like." Charles smiled brightly, bringing the dimples back to his face.

"It seems a bit childish but _Winnie the Pooh _is my favorite book. Christopher Robin doesn't seem to have a lot of friends and yet his stuffed animals manage to turn into something real or maybe he imagines that they're real which I rather like because I can invent things too, you see."

"I've never even heard of that book," admitted Erik which caused the descriptive ramblings to stop. For a minute Charles looked at him with those same wounded eyes from earlier. He shut the book softly, bringing his knees up to his chest and pinning the book between his body. _Is it because of that place you're from_? Erik heard Charles asked and was stunned to hear the question echo in his mind; he had to blink several times before he realized Charles' mouth hadn't moved like he suspected it to. The older boy gave the smallest of nods.

"It was a bad place," Erik managed to whisper hoarsely. Though he'd escaped from that awful camp it seemed just mentioning it took his energy as if he was enduring another session with Shaw. Charles felt tears prick the corners of his eyes as emotions hit him. One day he would learn to control what he could do but sometimes when he was inside others' heads their emotions came too and often times they were stronger than the thoughts that existed. He could feel pain, sadness, intense cold, and brightly burning hatred.

Erik's eyes widened. He felt like he was re-experiencing almost everything he'd felt while at the camps: pain, sadness, cold, and hatred. Hatred for Shaw. But the fact that Charles looking at him, being in his head, could bring those up wasn't why he was staring so bemusedly at his newfound friend. The boy was _crying_!

His heart twisted into something shaped by uneasiness, confusion, and disappointment at the sight of Charles' reddening face and twitching sniffle. The boy hiccupped and tried to cover his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Why are you crying?" Erik asked him as the boy continued to rub his eyes, and he moved the book out of the way to sit a bit closer. Clearly this boy really DID need a friend if he got this emotional over a person who was dead. But then again Erik could admire that niceness because no one in the camp was quite like Charles, and if they had been they probably wouldn't have been around long.

His little chest heaved behind the silk pajamas and Charles sniffed. "I…I…" the sniffles and choked sobs made it hard to speak. It was hard to speak anyways because Charles wasn't sure why he could do this or why _anyone _would feel as bad as Erik seemed to. That place must've been awful, thought Charles. "I feel…wha-what you feel, Erik. You're upset…a-and your feeling ha-have been hurt by s-someone." Erik thought guiltlessly about lying because if he admitted Charles was right he had a feeling they'd spend an additional five minutes on the floor because of Charles' crying.

"They were," Erik would give him that much. He would have to learn to talk to Charles because he was certain they'd be spending time together since he was dead and all. "But I'm feeling better now."

"R-Really?" Charles squeaked curiously as the tear trails were finally wiped from his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Erik nod. The older boy smiled, giving him a tentative pat on the back. His father used to do that when he was upset, or when he was proud, or when he simply wanted to let Erik know he was there. Charles could use a pat.

"You can't really read to me if you're crying so do you mind if I…uh…read to you?" Charles' red face brightened a bit. The little boy leaned over to watch as Erik started at the top of the page – Charles had already read that but it didn't matter – and began to read. Though not in English because Charles knew how to read in English and he paused, staring at Erik as if he had told him Santa Claus was his neighbor. Erik paused, too, and his cheeks burned when he realized the younger boy with his nice clothes and large house must not speak German. "Sorry," apologized Erik in a low mumble.

"I think that's bloody brilliant! Is that German? My step-father can speak that! He has some business chaps, you see, and they all know how to speak in different languages. When _I _get older I'm going to learn some different languages, too." Swore Charles. Erik smiled at his enthusiasm. At least that boy had dreams he could chase after. Erik wasn't even sure if he could age anymore. His mother had failed to look any different than when she left the Erik which left Erik feeling kind of disappointed.

Would he be eleven and a half forever? He hoped not. Erik started again, only this time in English, and began to tell Charles about Rabbit getting lost in the woods because of Tigger. The door to the library opened and Erik sucked in a breathe at the sight of Venelda staring softly but firmly at Charles with her hands on her hips. Part of Erik still thought he could be seen and get in trouble aplenty for being a stranger in their house but when Venelda spoke she only spoke to Charles.

"Bed, Mr. Xavier."

"But Ven_elda_," whined Charles pitifully, "I'm _reading_!"

"It's ten minutes past your bedtime, Charles."

"One more page?"

"No, Charles."

"But Erik's never heard this story before!" Charles protested. Venelda paused, whatever reply she had died then and there. She surveyed the room with her brown eyes and saw no one but the little Xavier. Clearly he must be in the imaginary friend stage and with lack of children his age to play with it seemed likely enough that he would make one.

"Well you and…Erik…will have to read some more tomorrow but you need to go to bed!" Charles gave a defeated 'hmph' which caused Venelda to smile. When the little Xavier did that with his out-jutted chin and pouty red lips she knew she'd won.

"Fine," Charles stood and gently took the book from Erik – not that Venelda could see him anyways – to set it on the table. "But I want you to know that the idea of a bedtime is quite preposterous." Venelda laughed as Charles gave a tiny nod in Erik's direction and marched out of the library with a look of false wounded pride more fitting of an adult than a ten-year-old. Or however old he was, Erik thought as he realized he knew nothing about Charles aside from what he looked like and the fact that he liked _Winnie the Pooh_.

"Aren't you forgetting Erik?" teased Venelda in her elderly way as Charles stopped, turned, and gave her a look. Erik could've laughed again at his face. It wasn't an evil look by any means but it was one more or less questioning whether or not she was making fun of Erik. That and a little bit of smugness.

"Erik's right _here_, Venelda." Teased Charles in the same tone as he gestured to his left where Erik stood. He didn't want to lose the boy because he was sure he'd get lost in the house. Venelda made a small 'oh' before laughing and excusing herself – incorrectly because she was in the wrong direction – to Erik before shooing him towards his room.

"Well take Erik with you to bed so he doesn't get lost. Do you want me to tuck you in?" Charles flushed. Sometimes that was nice but not tonight. Erik didn't look like the type to make fun but he was _ten _now and knew how to tuck himself in.

"No thank you, Venelda. Good night, though, and I'll see you in the morning!" switching back to his chipper mood Charles grinned to her. Venelda smiled, too, and Erik realized for as large and as cold as the house seemed Charles was getting some friendly interaction. Just not with people his age which is what he imagined the problem to be.

"Does Erik want a pillow and blanket?" fixing to _gently _ask her not to tease him anymore Charles eyed Venelda. His mouth opened to deny the pillow and blanket but Charles quickly realized that wasn't very fair to Erik. Erik was the one who should decide whether he wanted a pillow or a blanket. _Do you want a pillow or a blanket? _Charles asked him. Erik shook his head no, positive he wouldn't be able to 'sleep' anyways.

"No he's fine," replied Charles. Venelda bid him – _them_, to please Charles – goodnight before heading off to her own room for the night. "Come along, Erik, my room's this way!" delighted only the way a young boy could be when he had a friend over Charles all but skipped to his room. Erik was right about the house and its other rooms being proportionate. Charles' bed was perhaps the largest bed he'd ever seen. And the nicest.

It was a crème color with semi-golden sheets and a dark wood support that matched the color in the library. His room was sprinkled with books that hadn't managed to make it back to the library as well as his texts from school. Erik didn't see many toys but thought that actually – strangely – suited Charles. Though he was a young boy he certainly seemed more the school type than the sports type. His dresser, mirror, and nightstand were the same dark color that contrasted nicely with the lightly greyed carpet of his room.

"I've never had a friend stay over before," remarked Charles as he sat on his bed and actually let the situation sink in. "I suppose this can be a sleepover of sorts," he added which caused him to grin widely. Erik was amazed at how deprived the boy could be when it seemed he had everything. "What do they do at sleepovers, do you know?" Erik didn't have the slightest idea. His version of a sleepover was grim since it included huddling together with thin, freezing people as a means to stay warm but he didn't have the heart to say that to Charles and ruin his fun.

"Talk…I think." He gave a helpless shrug. Charles seemed excited enough at that and patted the bed welcomingly to his new friend.

"Let's talk then!" Erik cautiously crossed to the bed and sat carefully. He was surprised he could feel the cool, silky textures of the sheet beneath his fingers. The bed was like a dream and maybe if he had this one hours ago he'd be rested enough and warm enough not to have died. For a moment they had nothing to talk about because they didn't _know _what to talk about. "How did you find me, Erik?" Charles asked him.

How did he know that one was coming? Erik's brain stalled. Was Charles even allowed to know? Could he tell people that weren't dead? If he was sent here for Charles shouldn't Charles be able to know?

"I…" stumbled Erik, "it's a secret."

"I'll tell you a secret about me if you tell me yours," Charles tried, "then we're even." He was persistent, wasn't he? Erik had to admire that. Charles had a way of gently pressing on people without being as cruel or forthright as Shaw which was nice. Perhaps that's why he let his defenses down – because he'd finally escaped Shaw and this thin little boy before him with big blue eyes and crooked teeth was the farthest thing from Shaw.

"What's your secret?" Erik dared to ask. Charles grinned almost impishly at him.

"You first," demanded the younger boy. Erik withheld an eye roll. He certainly was a child but Charles seemed nice enough. Brighter than most children Erik had known.

"I'm dead," finally whispered Erik. He could tell by the way Charles' large smile failed to change that he thought this was all a joke. The boy got up and crossed the room hoping it would work. His mother said they didn't need all of their senses and if that was true – if he couldn't taste anything – then putting his mouth near the tiny candle wouldn't hurt him. It didn't.

If the situation wasn't so honest and serious Erik could've laughed at how Charles' eyes seemed to pop out of his head. Charles had been sitting in disbelief on the bed when Erik handled the candle. He wouldn't really do it…would he? Surely he'd be burned or…maybe not. Any sane person would be shouting, cursing, wincing, or bleeding as the candle passed close enough for Erik to swallow it and he certainly would've been shouting, cursing, wincing, or bleeding when his pink tongue flicked out to lick the flame.

But there stood his friend, unscathed and the flame undamaged as it continued to flicker dutifully. Erik saw fit to explain his situation now that Charles believed he wasn't being duped. Something in Erik couldn't completely tarnish the obvious fantasy the boy had made himself – he was quite imaginative – and simply stated that he was something of an angel. An angel for Charles that was sent here because Charles needed a friend. Charles interjected only to ask if he could also be a _guarding _friend angel too because someone he didn't like would be returning to the house soon.

He wouldn't tell Erik who but Erik didn't care. He would protect Charles because that was his job.

"Now," Erik settled carefully on the bed as it became apparent Charles wouldn't tell him who the person was, "what's your secret?" Charles failed to smile. Erik would've expected something silly or maybe have the secret be similar to what mental powers he had but obviously it wasn't. Whatever it was made the boy frown.

"I don't like small spaces," answered Charles without skipping a beat. Cain, the person he didn't like, had locked him in the tool shed on the far side of the grounds not too long ago. He was forever getting sent to boarding schools in hopes his attitude would change but each time he came back Charles managed to endure something worse than last time. Tomorrow he'd be home and admittedly Charles was scared. There had been spiders and cobwebs in the shed when he was thrown in there and he couldn't get out.

Charles hated the dark now. When he thought about it he'd worry about spiders and cobwebs and other things he couldn't see. "Is that why you have such a large bed?" Erik joked. By the looks of Charles versus his bed he thought at least five other Charles could fit in it! Regardless of the bad quality of the joke it made Charles smile.

"I have a large bed so I can grow into it," replied Charles though he wasn't actually sure why he needed a bed so large. Maybe it was because his parents didn't know how to buy small, simple things. They liked large, big, expensive things. Erik laughed giving him a doubtful snicker. Charles analyzed the large sheets covering his large bed as an idea occurred to him.

"Want to pretend it's a tent?" asked the younger boy as he peeled back the neatly made sheet to hold it over his head. He became a lump in the sheets and then poked his head out, "You see I've never been camping either and imagine it's not fun to camp alone so would you like to camp with me?" the word camp was suspiciously close to _camps _and _camps _had _Shaw _so Erik wasn't really cursing his hesitation. The boy paused, curling his fingers into the sheets while his mouth pressed closed firmly. He wouldn't tell Erik that he'd seen a camp – a bad camp – and a weird older man with glasses. That might upset him.

Erik was beginning to think he should just try to forget Shaw and the camps because he wouldn't physically be returning to either one anytime soon. That and Charles was giving him those big blue eyes of sadness again, whether he meant to or not. The boy was dangerously readable. "Alles ist gut," Erik assured him before – feeling very silly – climbing underneath the sheet and holding it over his head.

"Groovy," cheered the younger boy. "Now I'm not quite sure what we should pretend to be doing since camping has fires and we can't actually make one so…hm…I suppose we could tell stories?"

"I don't know that many," warned Erik. Charles had more books in one room than he'd had in his whole house! The younger boy grinned brightly as if that was no real problem.

"Then I shall tell you stories, Erik!" and Erik let him. Seeing Charles smile was quite comforting. It almost reminded him of what life had been like before the camps. Or what life could've been like if he had a little brother. He listened to stories of _Winnie the Pooh _and _Paddington Bear_ and anything else Charles could think of until the little boy at last became unable to make a proper sentence.

His blue eyes blinked slowly and he rubbed them with a lone hand, the other supporting the 'tent'. Charles took his head from under the tent to lay down and figure out where he'd been going with the story he was on – honestly he forgot which one it was – and failed to realize how tired he was. Erik grinned at the boy who began snoring seconds after he'd stilled in the bed. Carefully he laid his head on the neighboring pillow to look about the lavish room and read the clock that somehow managed to keep time correctly despite the fact it was keeping time for him, too, and he was gone. Well, he wasn't totally gone because Charles knew about him.

Charles cared for him which was astounding. They just met! And yet Charles was readily including him in everything he could think of. It was…touching. Erik didn't know what to make of it since so many things had made a mark on him – the ink, the tattoo that showed him as only a number, not a person, and the needle marks from previous experiments – but none had made a mark on him quite like Charles.

The boy was different from anyone he'd ever known. In more ways than one. Erik was unsure as to whether or not Charles considered himself different but knew now more than ever he had to protect him. Somehow, some way, if Shaw ever found out about him Charles could end up just like Erik. He refused to let that happen and Erik sighed, obviously unable to sleep with his head so full of thoughts and leaned over to tuck the sheet under Charles' chin.

He knew what it was like to be cold. Charles was cold, but a different kind of cold. While Erik had experienced true cold Charles was buffeted by emotional cold from the very place he called home. Erik hated the cold. Neither one of them would be cold any more, he decided.

Never again.

"ERIK WAKE UP!" Erik nearly fell off the bed. Apparently he could fall asleep. The older boy rubbed his eyes and groaned, staring blearily at the clock to find that only a few hours had passed. Three at best, maybe four. "I hear something," Charles insisted as he shook him by the arm.

He was trying to let his brain wake up. Did Charles consider it could be something silly like an animal? There were a lot of trees around his home – maybe one found a way to sneak in. "C'mon man! We've got to defend the house," Charles bolted from the bed and quietly opened his door only to sneak into the room four doors away. Before Charles could have a chance to hurt himself – or be hurt – Erik decided to follow him as the boy stalked determinedly down to the kitchen with a bat in his hands.

The name Cain decorated the bat and Erik couldn't make heads or tails of it. "Shush," Charles demanded, "you're thinking too much," and Erik blinked. Charles was good. They crept to the kitchen where the source of the noise was coming from and Charles let out an exasperated sigh to the blonde woman stooped over the open fridge. "Mother you scared me!" the boy told her as she spun around in surprise, "I thought you were a burglar!"

Erik eyed the woman and assumed almost instantly Charles got his looks from his father. His mother was far too blonde. She uttered something of an apology and offered to make him some coco and Erik stayed out of it to observe the kitchen. Not like she could hear him, anyways. There were some pictures of her at various places around the world but what Charles said next distracted him entirely from the pictures and he didn't even have to speak it.

_My mother has never once set foot in this kitchen, _said the young boy as Erik caught the first true glare from him, _and she certainly never made me hot chocolate unless you count asking the maid to do it_. His 'mother' looked wildly around the room and ultimately began to shrink. Erik had never seen anything like it. Standing before them now was a shy, scared, and very surprised blue girl with large golden eyes framed by the slightest hint of red hair. Charles looked just as stunned as him.

"You're not scared of me?" asked the little girl as Charles grinned warmly at her. Clearly the smile gave confidence to more than just Erik. She gave the tiniest hint of a smile back.

"I always believed I couldn't be the only one in the world. The only person in the world who was different. And here you are. Charles Xavier." Charles offered his hand.

"Raven." She shook his hand.

"You're hungry and alone. Take whatever you want. We've got lots of food. You don't have to steal. In fact, you never have to steal again." He could feel the obvious hunger and fear radiating from her. Charles could only assume she'd been alone for a very long time or was at least very poor because she was quite thin. Cold to the touch, too. Her face lit up causing her yellow eyes to crinkle and she turned back to the fridge after giving Charles one more questioning look. Erik opened the fridge for her, stunning her and Charles both as the young boy realized Erik must be different too.

Erik didn't know whether or not Raven could see him too but she didn't seem to care that the fridge had opened itself because she was busy grabbing small things like an apple, cheese, and some kind of chilled soup. Surprisingly she ate all of it. Now Charles had someone following HIM around like a puppy which made Erik smile because some three hours ago this was how it had been with them. "How come that other boy didn't eat anything?" Raven asked Charles and looked mildly stupefied at the fact she could see Erik when Venelda couldn't. Erik shrugged helplessly, unsure of what Charles should tell her since he didn't expect to be seen.

"He's not hungry." Charles finally answered. "Raven this is Erik."

"Hi Erik! Are you Charles' brother?"

"No," Erik replied with a tiny grin. God…he could never be! Though the boy was nice they were far too different. For one thing, Charles grew up here and he…well he was sure he could never forget the camps. Maybe distract himself from the memories but never forget them.

"He's my friend," smiled Charles. "We were having a sleepover. Would you like to join us?"

"Sure!" Raven felt like she could skip. She followed Charles and Erik back up to the room undisturbed as Charles had simply ordered anyone away. Erik was sure he'd never be able to control the awe in him at the sight of Charles so easily using his powers. They settled back into the bed with Raven curled between them. For the longest time – hours after Raven and Charles had fallen asleep – Erik stayed awake to stare at the ceiling and wonder things he didn't have answers to.

One thing being how Raven could see him. He blinked sleepily. _"Alles ist gut, engel_." Erik heard his mother whisper comfortingly. The boy sat up carefully as to not disturb the other two. She motioned for him to stay quiet when his mouth flew open in desperation to ask those pesky questions and Erik gradually laid back down again.

He would probably get his answers some other time. _"Sleep now,"_ whispered Mrs. Lehnsherr. _"Alles ist gut," _and for the first time in a long time Erik believed that. Really believed that.


	3. The Unspoken Law

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p>AN: I'm a little disappointed that only Kahenia, Valkyrie-Pleasant, and xXStarcastic reviewed chapter two when new blood came in but I greatly thank those three for doing so. I understand we're in an online time when reviews are a rarity (but the new 'favorites' and 'story alert' notifications made me smile just as much :D). Thanks to: Amara Calla, donnabella2k7, Dreamcreator, GoddessOfTheVampires, I-Write-Mush-And-I-Like-It, Luv2Swim, DeathTrapDaisy, and xXHeartsXDesireeXx for adding this to their favorites list! 20eKUraN11, Amara Calla, Batryns, Elizibeth Snow, GoddessOfTheVampires, Huffleclawmage, Kayilisiase, La Feu Eterne, Petite Amor, Prisoner of Pain, Susangel, Valkyrie-Pleasant, and All Apologies added this story to their alert list (yay!)! I said I wasn't going to update today because I have homework to do but we can see that went over well...it's sad I lose my conscious battles to fictional stories when I should have other priorities, but I do enjoy writing :)!<p>

Note: "Verdammt" means 'damn' in German. "Ich bin hier. Ich bin hier, meine freunde." means 'I'm here. I'm here, my friends'.

**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter Three: The Unspoken Law<p>

Mrs. Lehnsherr liked to think her son had hurt Cain for the greater good of Charles but that was not the case. She was here to reprimand him although she could – in his defense – see why he did what he did. He was simply acting to the best of his ability in order to protect Charles. However, such calculated spiritual interference was not welcome when it was harmful interference. A hint of motherly adoration swelled in her chest, however, because she knew her little bärchen was and always would be a protector.

Though they were both dead Mrs. Lehnsherr knew she would always be able to find her son for two reasons: he spoke up when weaker people were in trouble and the way he cut his blue-green eyes to look at obnoxious people. He would never lose those qualities, it seemed, and in the large house it made him easy to locate. Her son and his charge had just returned from a different part of the house to sit at an awkwardly quiet breakfast table being furnished by several maids. Those blue-green eyes were narrowed on his half-cocked head and aimed at the blonde boy shoving a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. The blonde boy's face was red like he'd baked in the sun and Mrs. Lehnsherr eyed Erik, unseen, from the head of the table.

All children simply _knew _when they were getting a disapproving parental stare – dead or not – and that phenomenon led Erik to look around sheepishly. He was staying close to Charles incase Cain tried something else ridiculous that could trump trying to drown his step-sibling in a toilet bowl. Though Charles had caught backlash from the spray in the shower when Erik turned the head and rotated the knobs to spray Cain with hot water he failed to be as damaged as the other boy. Erik had apologized immediately but Charles had partially shielded himself using a mental force field of sorts. Okay…so he'd apologized to Charles and Charles had even _said _Erik wasn't to blame – "It was more or less Cain's fault," said the boy – but his mother wasn't going away which meant he _must _be in trouble.

Thankful she wasn't a telepath the boy let himself mentally utter _verdammt _as he left a disguisedly confused Charles to see what was wrong. Mrs. Lehnsherr tried not to let her heart pull at that 'I know I did something wrong but I'm sorry. I love you!' half-smile of nervousness that made his brows pinch together ever so slightly and a dimple come into his left cheek. He would always and forever be her child and between her and his father Mrs. Lehnsherr never had the heart to dole out punishments. Erik was usually a very good, very quiet boy that hardly acted out without reason. She preferred to talk out his mistakes, anyways, and that's what she would do.

_"Can Charles see you, mom?" _asked Erik as his mother gently settled her arm around his neck and led him into the adjoining room that was more or less a way back to the living room.

_"No, Bärchen, he can only see you." _She explained as she stopped them in the center of the room. He was exceptionally lucky for a dead man; she mused, and took delighted in being able to pinch his cheeks. Mrs. Lehnsherr felt bad that she'd caused him such a panic after being shot but that was all behind them. Erik being a designated angel would chase off those bad memories and it seemed to be working already when she watched him – for the first time in a _long _time – use his imagination to play. However, as an angel he had certain responsibilities and those responsibilities had rules to be followed.

_"Did you come to check in on me?"_ the boy teased her with a more confident half-smile. She could tell his smiles were still stiff due to what he endured at the camp and that teasing was a reaction meant to offset his nervousness. He was in trouble and he knew it, Mrs. Lehnsherr noticed. Erik had always been a very astute boy.

_"Not exactly," _admitted his mother. Erik gave a visible swallow. On very few occasions could he bluff his way out of trouble by smiling – it simply didn't work but talking was definitely the lesser of two evils in the world of punishment. Especially whenever he remembered what Shaw thought of punishment. _"Before you left it was assumed you would not get into trouble because you are so young and well…you are my bärchen! But…given your act with the water I can see you need to be told."_

_"Told about what?" _Erik was so confused. Was he getting in _trouble _for what he did to Cain? _Cain _was the one who should be getting in trouble for trying to _drown _Charles! The boy's idea of fun was very akin to Shaw's which made Erik detest him immediately. Mrs. Lehnsherr sighed, trying to gather her thoughts, while she squeezed his shoulders lovingly and tried to find a nice way to say what she'd been sent to say.

In all actuality it was only half bad. The other half of the news should make him smile!

"There is a rule, Bärchen, that angels must do good—"

_"I did do good!" _interjected Erik as he looked at his mom in sheer disbelief. _"Cain was trying to drown Charles!" _didn't she say not even a day ago his mission was "to protect" the boy? If Charles felt threatened by having his head stuffed in a toilet and Erik deflected the possibility of that happening didn't he do his job? He thought so.

_"—without hurting other people." _finished his mother as she stroked her thumbs across his cheeks. Erik had a tendency to get flustered when he butted heads with people though Mrs. Lehnsherr was sure his hysteria would calm with time. She easily gave her sympathies to his situation – he was still young and his brain not completely aware of long-term consequence because it hadn't matured yet. Not only that but Erik was Erik…he rarely thought first before acting. He was so like his father and Mrs. Lehnsherr could see that streak of stubbornness in him largely due to that valiant nature of his.

_"So does this mean I have to go to someone else now?" _Erik pondered as he looked at his mother with eyes closely related to the sad blue ones Charles had used on him yesterday. He couldn't leave now, not when Charles was in the lion's den. The only thing keeping Cain from doing anything silly – aside from Raven the Tattle-Tale who had seamlessly been entered into the family due to mind control – was the nasty glare from his father across the table. Breakfast wouldn't last forever and eventually the parents would leave to do their own thing, leaving Charles and Raven perfectly unguarded.

_"No," _smiled his mother. This boy would be good for Erik indeed because that one word made Erik's face light up like it was Chanukah. _"But you will be punished. Angels must do good things, Bärchen. You will be forced to stay a spirit the more you do bad things." _Erik couldn't believe his ears. He actually had a way to return to his body? But how could that be when it was likely non-existent now since the Nazi had taken it away? His mother giggled in her slow, comforting way at his look of sheer surprise.

_"He will do good things for you if you do good things for Him. What He taketh away He can giveth again. Because this was your first time He wants you to stay a spirit for at least three more months."_

_"So if I do 'good' things I can get my body back?" _clarified Erik as he followed her logic. Could angels really get their bodies back? Maybe God was making this a special case since he was so young. Erik would gladly take a warm body over a halo and a pair of wings…if that's indeed what angels got because his mother had neither of those things. His mother nodded in confirmation and Erik licked his lips thoughtfully, pressing them together as he imagined being able to feel the floor of the room and _taste _things again.

The idea was highly attractive.

_"Go back to him, Bärchen. Maybe next time I see you I won't have bad news." _Mused his mother. The news was hardly bad, thought Erik, but that was probably because he refused to think he'd done anything wrong. He had protected Charles as He wanted so therefore it wasn't wrong. If anything the news he received was all-good and could possibly make spending a full day protecting Charles from Cain enjoyable. Cain had a tendency to make anything an annoying task because he was obnoxious, a few years older than Charles, and just naturally bad.

Like Shaw…naturally bad just like Shaw. The thought alone was enough to make the metal in the room with the breakfast table rattle. Charles gave him the smallest of concerned looks as he finished his last forkful of pancakes and wiped his lips on the folded napkin. _Where did you go?_ Erik couldn't help but smile warmly at the touch of concern and curiosity in Charles' mental voice. He really did get attached too easily and Erik, himself, had let the generosity and adoration that oozed from Charles infect him better than it should.

_Had a talk with someone_, Erik said simply. He wouldn't tell Charles that he'd actually gotten 'punished' for defending him because then the little boy might actually _let _Cain beat him up. Erik wouldn't let that happen, however. Maybe it was because he'd been beaten those – few – times by soldiers in the camps but the young Lehnsherr had a great dislike for abuse. Of any kind, to any person that didn't deserve it.

Charles most certainly didn't deserve to get beat up.

Venelda took the plates away and immediately Raven wanted to go explore. Mrs. Xavier remarked that she was quite adventurous and silly when she should know where everything is in her own house. Charles saved face by explaining 'exploring' was Raven's way of wanting to play hide-and-seek. For a second Raven looked deeply embarrassed and mildly apologetic to Charles – she wasn't used to having a family after NOT having one for a long time – and Charles simply smiled as they went to go "play". Really the younger boy could tell she wanted to investigate the library after seeing so many books in Charles' room; she didn't know how to read too well given the fact she hadn't grown up with parents to teach her.

Though Charles tried to keep his ability to see into her open mind quiet. He felt bad about it, honestly, but sometimes he had little control. Erik followed them to the library while Charles spun scenes and sounds of them playing hide-and-seek lest Cain come to find them as the three sat down with _Winnie the Pooh _against the large window – just like how Erik had found him, Charles mused. Raven sat, entranced, as Charles read and only occasionally asking what a word was because she'd rather hear the story. Charles never realized how bad off she was; Raven knew the alphabet for sure but pronunciation was another thing for her all together.

She knew how certain words should sound because she'd heard them so much but other than that – if she'd never heard it before – she was lost and would stumble over the word until she hunched over in utter embarrassment. Charles loved sharing what he knew so he found it no trouble at all to explain these words to Raven. One day Charles wanted to be a teacher. Erik found it utterly amusing how Charles doted on Raven because it so reminded him of his mother.

The thought caused him to pause; thinking of his mother also reminded him of what he'd been told. If he did bad things he would stay a spirit and be forced to follow Charles with only him to know he existed – well Raven too but he'd met Charles first. He was here FOR Charles – but if he did something good he might have his own body to one day sit and read with Charles. He was worried that Shaw had done far too much damage to him and had essentially stripped away his ability to be good. It thrilled Erik far too much to watch Cain squeal when that hot water pelted him. Would he end up like Shaw, Erik feared?

He hoped not. If Charles could teach Raven something as vital and simple as the alphabet maybe Charles could teach him how to be good. Charles, himself, didn't seem to find being good very hard. _Should I get you two a blanket? _Erik looked to Charles who was reading steadily to Raven as she snuggled up under his arm like nothing more than a disguised cat. She was blinking slowly, sleepily, and Charles assumed it was because her body was getting used to being fed and the ability to catch up on things she'd missed like a good sleep.

_Please would you Erik?_

_Of course_, and he would do so because Charles had asked politely. The only place he actually knew where to get a blanket from was the boy's bed and it wasn't a blanket so much as the whole thick cover. Hopefully Charles wouldn't get in trouble for running the bed Venelda had made – as Venelda wouldn't believe 'Erik' had done it – but Erik didn't think about that. He was more or less watching the halls carefully to make sure no one watched a bed cover drag itself down the hall and into the library. To his good fortune no one did see him – maybe attending to Charles' parents? – and Erik draped the thick cover over the two as he settled by the curtain to hear what happened next.

Charles smiled at the fluffy, silky texture as he continued to read. Raven was almost completely asleep now and gradually shifting out of her disguise. Pore by pore the blonde hair disappeared and the blue skin took over. The young Xavier made a mental note to help her on that – somehow – as it would be dangerous for her to sleep in the house alone if he ever went away and the staff was home. Erik marveled at how mutants seemed to be everywhere – in places he wouldn't have expected – since escaping the camps.

If only Shaw knew how many there were….how many there might be. Did he know? The door to the library opened, breaking Erik's thoughts and Charles quickly threw up the illusion that Raven was still a blonde little girl in a ruffled red and white dress when his mother appeared. Apparently Kurt was arranging a small business get together to celebrate his return and they were to be as quiet as possible. Cain included, if Charles or Erik failed to notice the way Mrs. Xavier had to forcibly push the older boy in.

Perfection, thought Erik with a grimace. Charles continued to hold the illusion as Raven slept and eyed Cain hesitantly. Cain rarely came empty-handed. Briefly Charles wondered if he'd noticed the bat missing from his room that he'd almost struck Raven with last night. "What are you reading, dork?" sauntering over to the group Cain leaned down to try and read a few lines of the book upside down, managing to catch a few character names.

Erik sneered at the boy and wondered what that lump under his shirt was. At twelve the boy was quite curious and liked to wear long, rumpled clothes a far cry from Charles' own version of clean dress. It was clear that all these two could ever hope to be were _step_-siblings because they were far too different to be full blood. "You're reading _Winnie the Pooh_?" chuckled Cain as he actually grabbed his stomach – he had to with the obnoxious way he laughed loud enough to shatter the window behind them, Erik thought – in pain. "That's a baby book!" Charles' ears burned at the mockery and Erik wanted to hit him all over again.

He wanted to hit him once for making Charles' blue eyes gleam so wetly in the way they did while his ears burned and again for waking Raven up. "It is not," pouted Charles. "Besides, Raven likes it."

"That's because Raven's a baby."

"Raven's ten!"

"Yeah, she's younger than me so she's a baby."

"_I'm_ younger than you, Cain."

"And you're a baby," grinned the step-brother. Charles' ears burned again.

"Am not!"

"Yeah? Then prove it. Let's play Cowboy and Indian. You can be the Indian." Cain issued the challenge and Charles rolled his eyes. How in the world would playing an Indian prove anything? "I'll be the Cowboy," said Cain as he finally revealed the lump Erik had seen. Charles had probably thought nothing of it because he tended to ignore Cain and his loud ways but he was certainly thinking about it when the lump turned to be a gun nosing its way towards his forehead. The panic all but exploded from Charles as he wondered only for a second if Cain had taken the loaded gun from his step-father's secret box.

The one they were never supposed to touch.

He wouldn't really hurt him, would he? Charles' heart fluttered frantically under his nice cardigan. Never in his life – no less at the age of ten – would he imagine a _gun _to be pointing at him. Erik had known what it was before it surfaced because he could feel the metal pressing on his veins. The weapon clicked and Charles had two options: fight Cain with his power or take Raven and run (but be greatly slowed).

This boy was just like Shaw and Erik was nearly blinded, enraged by the similarities. Charles gasped as the immaculate images of something horrible shot through his head. He didn't really understand what they were but he saw the man with glasses again, and what looked like a desk with a coin on it. Erik lifted his hands like Shaw had coached him, his only intention to push the gun away from Charles and Raven. It took all he had to remember this boy was a year and a half older than him and _not _a Nazi soldier and _not _Shaw but in many ways he was really damn close.

Too close for Erik to like.

Cain grunted as he tried to pull the gun down from the ceiling. He just wanted to scare Charles and he was sure he'd grabbed the gun with the blanks but for some reason he couldn't pull the weapon down. All he was going to do was aim at the window. The pampered little runt needed to toughen up because Cain was not going to have a wuss for a step-brother – that's precisely what Charles was because he liked to sit alone and read books and wear dorky clothes. Charles, though terrified, was mostly terrified because he could feel almost everything move in Erik – the taunt veins in his outstretched hand forcing the gun away from him by sheer use of mutant power and _oh God _the hatred – to keep the boy at bay.

It was astounding, really, because he thought he was alone with what he could do. Erik forced the trigger down and Charles clapped his hands over his ears at the sharp sound of bullets escaping the chamber. Raven screamed, climbing into his lap, and Cain blinked furiously as bits of dusty ceiling drizzled down overhead. The young Lehnsherr locked the boy's arm in place until all the bullets had passed through the ceiling, the noise ultimately calling adults into the room. Something small – something dark and _evil _– purred joyously in the depths of Erik to see the stupid little boy being escorted away by a finely pinched ear as he tried to explain it wasn't him but the _gun _that seemed to act of its own accord.

Needless to say Cain would be getting in trouble. The gunshots had caused an uproar and Kurt was furious, his party disbanded before it had time to start. Mrs. Xavier was checking the children for wounds and trying to calm them down when Erik realized with sick disappointment that Charles was so wide-eyed because he was scared and this was probably the most his mother had touched him in a while. It was sad, really. Issues with Cain drifted from Cain, himself, to bickering with Kurt for even keeping 'something like that' in the house and Erik followed Charles to his room as he carried a sobbing Raven.

Charles felt silly about hiding under his sheet, the cover abandoned in the library but it was helping Raven. Actually it was helping him, too, if he had to admit it. Never had he been so scared of a person in his life! He felt a thin arm wrap around his side of the sheet and from beneath it he could see a similar impression on Raven's side. Erik's attempt at a hug was quite comforting though Charles knew it should feel odd because his mother and father often tried to teach him that some things in society – such as boys hugging full-body as they got older – were unacceptable.

Erik locked the door with a simple flick of a hand and held the two. They shivered so hard that it reminded him of lying in bed at the camps. "Alles ist gut," he whispered into the tops of their heads – judging he was talking to Charles since he was sure that was Raven he felt smashing into his ribcage – "Ich bin hier. Ich bin hier, meine freunde." For a moment all was still. He could feel the tension ebbing from their bodies as they gradually recovered from startle and Raven's sniffles had finally subsided. The few seconds of peace and quiet was quickly turned on its head when Charles seized up and began to cry out despite his gritted teeth.

There was nothing more alarming than that to Raven. One minute he was okay, and the next…he wasn't! Erik was also confused. "Charles?" Raven poked nervously at his backside as the boy kicked his feet out and dug his toes deep into the mattress as he flung his hands up under his pillow. The boy groaned in response, his face reddening.

Charles could scream at the confusion of it all. He could go into peoples' minds but he couldn't keep _them _out of _his_! Cain was getting a hell of a beating and Charles could feel the bite of the belt on _him _as if _he _was the one bent over in the study! It was enough to make him cry because Charles wasn't sure when Kurt would stop. Kurt cared for him – and with his mind trick – and also Raven but Kurt had a tendency to value social status as much as family ties.

Erik tried to ignore the fact that Charles accidentally head butted him when he tried to calm him down – to _do something _– because he didn't know how to deal with Charles AND Raven freaking out. "Ich bin hier. Ich bin hier." It seemed to help Raven but not Charles. He could tell by the locked jaw and tightly closed eyes Charles was trying to keep it all in his head but Erik was sure that hurt him most of all. The boy was essentially trapping himself.

Finally after ten – long, horrible, evil, insane, agonizing – minutes Charles stopped. His body relaxed. The boy's blue eyes fluttered and he was sure after a beating like that Cain would be going straight back to school. His lower back and buttocks hurt but he would gladly take the pain if that meant Cain would be punished enough to keep away. Charles' breath hitched as he realized the half-crescent nail marks in Erik's skin – was it because he could _feel _Erik that Erik could feel him too? – were from his own fingers.

They were red, nasty, and plentiful. Charles felt bad. Erik felt worse. Not only would he have to spend three more months as a spirit but he would have to do so with the knowledge that he inadvertently hurt Charles. If he hadn't manipulated the gun it wouldn't have gone off and Cain wouldn't have received a beating. Maybe it was a good thing he was already dead because Erik was sure if he wasn't that the teary look of exhaustion, surprise, and confusion on Charles' face was enough to kill him again.

"I'm sorry, Charles." It was almost impossible to whisper. The phrase itself tasted bad, or maybe it tasted bad because Erik was furious with himself that he was the cause of his friend's – his charge's – pain. In the course of dealing with the pain Charles' fingers and nails had not only come from beneath the pillows to grab at Erik's hands but also the collar of his shirt – and invisibly, his heart. Erik would gladly take that pain over what Charles had endured and plenty more just to make it up to him.

"You're a bad angel if you have to apologize for doing something good," laughed Charles. Erik thought that he was in no position to laugh and certainly _shouldn't _but he couldn't hate the boy for smiling. Not with a smile like that. Not when it had been so long since he'd seen someone other than Shaw smile. Raven laughed nervously.

"I don't think I'm much of an angel if you got hurt," replied Erik glumly. Surely Charles could see the logic in that. The boy looked like he wouldn't respond when he started to grab a thin book off the nightstand and motioned Raven to wedge herself between them. Clearly Charles was the type of person who liked to push bad things away and forget them unlike Erik who focused on them. Let those bad things fuel him.

"I think you're an angel, Erik," Raven said sweetly as she looked at him with bright yellow eyes. "You did something nice and kept us from getting hurt."

"He did," agreed Charles. "And you'd be an absolutely _darling _angel if you put some ice in a rag for me and brought it back up here." That was the least Erik could do. The gun situation was his fault, after all. _I hardly blame you, Erik_ heard the older boy as he walked to the kitchen to get the ice and the rag. Mrs. Xavier was in there but she was leaning over a long bottle with amber liquid and Erik took that to mean she wasn't coherent enough to remember a rag floating out of the kitchen bulging with ice.

Something twisted in him at the sight of Charles excitedly sitting on the ice cloth. Erik felt at a loss. How could Charles continue on so simply when he'd just been – inadvertently – beaten? His strength was astounding and Erik only hoped he had half that strength when – if - he ever got his body back. The boy figured mathematically that if it was three months per every incident and didn't multiply with each 'mistake' he'd get a body by the time he was almost thirteen.

He wasn't sure if he deserved a body. The sight of Charles reading to Raven as she chewed excitedly on her thumbnail was enough to make the young Lehnsherr think his punishment wasn't that bad. Regardless of what he'd done or what he may do in the future he'd get to spend his time with Charles.


	4. A Groovy Criminal Record

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p>AN: First and foremost: thank you so much for the reviews. I feel so honored and just…wow, just thank you! Makes my day :). This chapter might seem odd but that's because I never expected this story to take off or receive the reception that it has. Honestly I don't have the middle planned out but I have the end planned.<p>

Thanks to: xXHeartsXDesireeXx, nonoreader, Sen2TOS9, Valkyrie-Pleasant, and horrorfan1980s for the review to chapter three. It is just amazing so many people care enough to review! Major appreciation from me, no joke. Amara Calla, DeathTrapDaisy, donnabella2k7, Dreamcreator, GoddessOfTheVampires, horrorfan1980s, I-Write-Mush-And-I-Like-It, Icook93, Luv2Swim, ninjaeris13, remembrance88, Sen2TOS9, The 11th Doctor's Mermaid Sam, xXHeartsXDesireeXx, and yAoI-tEnShI1412 added this to their favorites list. 20eKUraN11, All Apologies, Amara Calla, Batryns, Elizibeth Snow, eneles, GoddessOfTheVampires, Huffleclawmage, Kayilisiase, La Feu Eterne, Petite Amor, Prisoner of Pain, still-in-silence, Susangel, tefftmeister, The 11th Doctor's Mermaid Sam, Valkyrie-Pleasant, yAoI-tEnShI1412 have this story on their alert list.

Once again, many thanks!

**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter Four: A Groovy Criminal Record<p>

Erik decided his method of revenge against Charles would be waiting until he was old enough to date and scaring off any woman he attempted to woo. It was the only thing that _might _make up for Charles trying to kill him in his sleep. Grant it he couldn't die because he was already dead but Charles was quickly discovering a way to amend that. The boy had numerous nightmares concerning being shot, point blank, with no telepathic aid – or even Erik, as Charles later confessed – that resulted in the nearest thing being squeezed to death. Usually Erik.

For six months the boy had been homeschooled due to trauma and while he was fine in the day time that was far from the truth at night. During the day Charles coached Raven in reading, math, and helped her with her abilities but at night he was the vulnerable one. The little one, the scared one. Erik would much rather stay up and sit in the room since Raven preferred to snuggle up with Charles for comfort but Charles simply wouldn't have that. Well…he would but Erik was mandated to be closer than a chair or the floor.

"It's a safety measure, Erik," the nightly excuse came as Erik was once again subjected to intense abdominal squeezing and the familiar scaly fingers of Raven's grabbing at his arm. She slept between them so when Venelda came to wake them in the morning it looked like Charles was hugging her instead of Erik. Not that Venelda knew Erik _really_ existed, anyways. Tomorrow would be different, however, and Erik grinned despite just getting kicked by Raven in her sleep, because Charles was going to boarding school. He and Raven both would be going and the two older boys felt confident enough that six months' worth of training was good enough for Raven in a school setting.

This was the last night he'd be squeezed, pinched, kicked, drooled on, or anything else the two could think to do to him while they slept. Though they owned up to nothing when morning came and Erik's shirt collar was soaked with drool or he had toenail marks from where Raven liked to tuck her pointy toes into the bend of his knee. There was a tiny comfort in that but the larger question loomed before him: what would he do while Charles was at school? Could he even _go _to school or was he supposed to stay in the house? Surely Charles couldn't go by himself…school had other children, _many _other children in the same area at the same time!

Children that could be like Cain, lying in wait for Charles. He simply couldn't leave Charles alone – how could he when he was still so vulnerable? Six months had passed and Charles was beginning to reign in his own powers but he was still small and thin at first glance. The boy was eleven and two months now – meaning he'd been ten when they first met, Erik realized – and Erik was some eight months older than him. At eleven Charles Xavier looked like he could wear Raven's clothes for how thin he was and though his freckles looked like they were subsiding his teeth were still in need of fixing.

His skin was still pasty and soft which was amazing because Erik thought all of those odd cardigans were itchy as hell. Charles may be newly eleven but he dressed like he was _one hundred _and eleven. That alone was reason enough for Erik to join him at school tomorrow. If not Charles might get thrown in a trash can or stuffed in who _knew_ what? Erik could note with a tiny swell of pride that his ability to keep the door locked and mutter sleepily in German when Raven had wakened herself with a nightmare had greatly assisted them on the road to mental recovery.

It might have annoyed him and cost him hours of sleep but it helped. He needed to do something good so he didn't completely forget how to _be _good. Charles had a way of getting him into trouble without doing much at all. Mrs. Xavier had caught him sneaking a pastry for Raven - which he wouldn't have done had Charles not asked and Raven not begged him to – and Erik was forced to make her chug the bottle of bourbon she had in her hand at the time. Thankfully the woman was always walking around with alcohol.

She saw the bottle moving of its own accord and sealed her mouth to it when it started to tip upwards. Mrs. Xavier had never been one to chug but she certainly wasn't one to waste a good drink. A few minutes after the contents had been swallowed it caught up with Mrs. Xavier and Erik let her slide down the length of the fridge. Erik knew she wasn't going anywhere and looked around for anyone else he might have to subdue before getting the pastry to Raven. He was sure getting the mother of his charge drunk was just as bad as getting Cain in trouble.

At this rate the idea of having a body at thirteen was quickly disappearing.

Damn Charles.

Now, however, when he was perfectly asleep with his mouth hanging open in danger of inhaling Raven's hair Erik couldn't hate him. Even if he did _somehow _convince him to do these things he didn't want to do. The older boy was beginning to think Charles didn't need his telepathy because his blue eyes and pouty red mouth seemed to get more than just him to do his bidding. He couldn't hate him anyways because Charles rarely did anything for himself. Charles acted mostly others, such as Raven.

It was that selflessness – aside from his slightly girlish looks – increasing his likelihood of being picked on. Erik giggled as quietly as possible to himself when he considered the boy's growing hair that had more curls than ever. Kurt was always nicer to Charles – especially after the incident – than Cain so when Charles' hair started to grow instead of letting his mother keep it short and trimmed about his ears the man let the boy grow it out. The young Xavier had an overabundance of curls that accented his high cheekbones and doe eyes. His school might just put him in a girl's uniform first and that thought made Erik chuckle.

Charles couldn't help it in all honesty, Erik knew. He couldn't help that his voice still sounded light, small, and childishly curious. Erik assumed Charles would be a late bloomer and grow into a man's body in about a year. He had been the opposite and prior to his death Erik was well on his way into obvious signs of manhood. Though he wasn't sure if he'd complete that process now given the fact that he was dead.

Ghostly hands that weren't his own managed to unweave the fleshy iron hold around his middle and detach the hesitant claws of a blue girl before helping Erik up. The boy knew that it was his mother – she was the only one that visited him. Her presence also indicated news and Erik hoped this time it would be good. Since the incident with Cain she'd visited him once – when he got Charles' mother drunk and warned him that his sentence was growing. At least someone – unfortunately – was keeping count because Erik wasn't sure if it was three months' per incident or if time multiplied per incident.

Mrs. Lehnsherr had not been happy when she learned Erik had gotten Charles' mother drunk. When did her _bärchen _start to stray so? Obviously it was that little boy's fault but Erik seemed not to mind it. Regrettably she had to inform Erik that He had chosen to multiply his time for each successive wrongdoing so her boy was looking at a total of twenty-seven months, six of which had been served. It was thirty minutes before Venelda would come to take the girl away for school and one of the male attendants would get Charles ready so Mrs. Lehnsherr thought this was a good time to explain things to him.

There was more to be discussed than his sentence. Unfortunately because Raven was not Erik's main charge when he'd been assigned he'd gradually fall away from her. She may still be able to feel him but when she reached thirteen the girl wouldn't be able to hear him or see him. Mrs. Lehnsherr felt it best to warn him because it was never easy to leave loved ones behind – something she knew first hand. The girl was just recently ten and though she had three years before anything really 'changed' it would still be hard.

Erik felt dizzy, almost like the first night in the Xavier manor. Raven wouldn't be able to see him or hear him anymore when she reached thirteen? He thought that hurt more than knowing he had a year and nine months left to his sentence. Time didn't matter because it was spent with Charles and Raven. Honestly it had been him and Charles in the beginning but now that he'd gotten used to Raven he wasn't sure what it would be like to go without her.

Or she would go without him, technically. Erik would always be here for her…even if she couldn't see him. When his mother let him return with a kiss on his brow Erik could've crumpled to the floor in a sheer cackling fit. Their uniforms had been delivered – perhaps because the Xaviers were a wealthy house and they could ask such a thing? – and Charles looked uncomfortable _and _hilarious. Erik was sure it was merely the colors that made him look so funny but the fact that Charles blinked so slowly, so sleepily, and shot him his worthiest death glare in a canary yellow button down jacket showing the slightest hint of ruffled shirt certainly didn't help.

As if to hide the horrid ruffles peeking out from the button down jacket a black bow tie was wrapped around his little neck. It matched his black dress slacks and highlighted the gray of his dress shoes. The colors were bright and the embroidered initials of 'Westchester Preparatory School' looked like nothing more than a knot of misplaced black string. Charles actually looked more like a very unhappy bee than a schoolboy. Erik laughed harder when he imagined Charles to be a bee studying in school because the color scheme fit so well.

_Do shut up, Erik_ Charles _requested _as he turned his little nose up and marched with whatever dignity he had left to the breakfast table. The request wasn't enough to stop Erik – however good his own efforts – and Charles pouted into his morning cereal because a ghost no one but he and Raven could see wouldn't stop laughing. Sometimes being an Xavier really _was _unbearable. She looked far nicer, thought Charles, and briefly wondered if the mental damage to his parents was worth getting a better uniform. Ultimately it wasn't, he decided, but Charles still admired the simple yellow sundress with a black ribbon about the waist to compliment the black dress shoes and knee-high white socks. The gray ribbon braided into her hair was option and Raven wore it with pride.

At moments like these he wished he _had _been born Charlie Francis Xavier. After breakfast Venelda walked them to the limo that would take them into town where the large but private school was located. Charles felt a bit better when he realized the boys were all dressed the same and the girls looked like Raven despite their hair colors and skin colors. Erik surveyed the new territory. He wouldn't know for sure if the school had an age limit or how many grades they taught in one building until Charles had classes.

Like anything Erik wasn't used to only time would help him. On instinct he didn't like it, however, because most boys looked larger than Charles at first glance. Clearly he'd have his work cut out for him. Nervously Charles and Raven clambered out leaving Hugh their chauffer to drive the car away and Erik looked around. One good thing about uniforms was that no one would get picked on for their clothes but the downside was the blinding sea of yellow, black, white, and gray they made when collected together in one place.

_Look at all these people_, marveled Charles to Erik as he passed unseen to any of them except the Xaviers as they found the cafeteria where the introductory lecture was scheduled. _The school is designed to have…well off…families only so most of them probably know how it is to be like me. Or maybe not, everyone is different. Do you think I'll make friends?_

_I'm not sure, Charles._

Erik was afraid to say anything because it was either going to be 'not if I have anything to say about it' or 'possibly because you're too welcoming'. One would sound mean and the other would sound awkward. He was simply being honest either way, thought Erik, and was still denying that he might be too gracious with comments towards Charles. The only reason he was honest was because he spent so much time with Charles. And only that because it would be weird – and wrong – to like a boy just for the sake of liking them.

Who'd ever heard of anything like that, anyways?

_Well, I have you, my friend, which is enough. _He was assuring himself more so than complimenting Erik but it was still nice to hear. Erik could only assume he'd picked up the phrase 'my friend' from Kurt. It had essentially become his catchphrase. Charles always did speak years older than his true age but this was the first thing that felt…right.

If Erik wasn't already dead he'd wish to be dead. The introductory speech was very boring and the only useful bits were the ones near the end because they told the children where to get their schedules and who to see if they got lost. Charles took Raven by the hand - the actual act of holding her hand now automatic and brotherly – to escort her to the table since they were both under 'X'. "Hey is that your girlfriend?" teased one boy neither Charles, Raven, nor Erik knew.

"You're kind of small for a boy. Can you wear her shoes?" inquired another.

"Look at how clean his nails are. Did you get them done with your mommy, Princess?"

Erik's blood boiled. He hated humans. He really did. They were stupid, corrupt, and just _annoying_. Worse than Cain, he'd venture because these three – acquainted or no – were attacking Charles without so much as a second thought and there were _three _of them. Charles really could get him in trouble without doing anything because right now he wasn't doing anything and Erik wanted to take all of the metal-tipped pins holding the schedule listings together and prick them fiercely.

Charles could fight eloquently, he decided. These boys had no gun and they were fairly simple. Hardly anything projected to him from others' minds since he'd been practicing but from what Charles could see he gathered that was because there was nothing _to _project. "I'm not small," argued Charles. "I just haven't had a growth spurt. And this is my sister but I wouldn't expect you to realize that given your…current state. I take it your mother doesn't do anything with you and that's why you just rolled out of a dumpster? Or…wait…that's how you look naturally, I suppose…"

_Go Charles! _Erik's amused wheeze managed to breach his mind. It was one of the things making Charles grin, the other being his own surprise at how easy he'd verbally stood up for himself, and a third being how hard Erik was laughing. Raven seemed to be having a good time, too. The three boys were stunned and Charles turned up his nose at them as he took their schedules and walked Raven to her first room. He was escorted to his first class by Erik and without Raven he felt simply like Charles – just Charles, no bravery, no quick wit.

In all actuality he felt quite vulnerable without his sister. She was someone he had to protect and Charles would gladly step outside of his comfort zone to ensure that safety. His own, however, that was another matter. Especially when all three boys were in his first class, an art class. Surrounded by paints, easels, pencils, brushes of various sizes, and chalks what could go wrong?

Plenty when Erik was nearby.

Their first assignment had been to do a small picture in order for the teacher to get a glimpse of how they painted and how their personality was hinted at by what they drew. Charles felt a bit overwhelmed by the array of paints and brushes before him once he realized he had free reign. What could he draw? She wasn't going to give them a topic? Numerous things came to mind – Raven, Kurt, Venelda – but the best thing his mind could settle on was Erik.

He was present and Charles could look at him all he liked if he tried to paint him. Not that he needed to, he knew Erik like the back of his hand. Or almost; there were some things the older boy wouldn't talk about such as what life had been like before he died but other than that he was pretty honest. Quiet, but honest. And if he wasn't usually his mental emotions would betray him and Charles would eventually wrangle an honest answer out of him.

_Aww Charles, you're painting me? I feel honored. _though Erik teased him Charles could see and feel the boy sitting curiously on the back of his seat and leaning forward to watch. Charles could never be sure what Erik had and hadn't seen but by the looks of it Erik hadn't seen a painting in progress. At the top right corner of the paper Charles mixed the pale shade that would represent Erik's face – maybe one day he would get his body back and tan slightly but the older boy was just a few shades warmer than ivory. He had seen professionals paint his mother's and Kurt's portraits before and knew it was a good idea to sketch before painting. The general shape of Erik's head began to fill the page – a rounded scalp full of hair obscuring ever so slightly his left eyebrow and high cheek bones that sent the rest of his face downward into a slightly square chin – when the boys stopped by Charles' desk.

Charles finished the nose – a simple curved line he wouldn't go into detail as he never really practiced drawing – and paused to look up at them. Though they were all dressed alike the boys had brushes of different sizes oozing with color and Charles frowned. Surely they weren't going to ruin his picture? It was coming along rather nicely. The spaces for Erik's eyes had been made and Charles was gradually filling in the dark head of hair in wispy strokes.

"What _is _that?" asked the boy at the front, obviously their leader.

"My friend," said Charles without much regard to their advancement. Erik was mesmerized by the crude but heartfelt sketch Charles attempted, so much so that the paint brush threatening to ruin it was moved by the tiny metal band above the bristles and shoved up the offenders nose. The boy gasped; his nostril flush with orange and Charles bit his lip. How could Erik act out here, in SCHOOL? These people weren't his house staff and might not humor the fact that an 'imaginary friend' did it.

"Byron it seems you should return to your seat as it's dangerous for you to be walking around. You've seemed to have forgotten which way your brush was facing when you stepped." The teacher spoke too calmly for Erik to question whether or not Charles had manipulated her. Erik could admire her cool gaze and none-too-amused face as she eyed the other two collected around Charles' desk. Seeing his opportunity, Erik took it. A boy with blondish-ginger hair was his next victim and without much warning the button and zipper to his dress slacks came down and Erik wiggled a finger to guide the metal down the length of his legs. That caused an all-out panic.

"The indecency!" cried the teacher as Erik withheld a cackle. Or snorted into his hand, rather, as he was failing miserably at withholding such a gleeful dry laugh. Charles slapped his hand to his face with a small sigh. Not only did he NOT want to see another boy's underwear he didn't want to think Erik was acting like a child. But on the bright side his painting was undisturbed.

Before anything could happen to the third boy he sat down looking wide-eyed at Charles who had done nothing but toil away at his picture since the mischief started. The class teacher, Ms. Larrow, had a janitor watch them while she _personally _escorted 'poorly dressed Fredric' to the school seamstress to see what could be done about his wardrobe issue. Class was peaceful after that; the janitor was quiet and polite as he merely waved the children back into drawing. Charles would say it was peaceful but he could feel people staring at him. Stupid Erik.

_I did it for you, Charles_ Erik told him.

_And I'm the Easter bunny. You enjoyed that far too much to do it just for me. _Replied Charles as he eyed the older boy sitting quietly on the back of his chair. Erik flashed him a crooked half smile.

_I did it MOSTLY for you_, admitted Erik as he patted Charles back. The younger boy sighed. Though he could admire Erik's valiant efforts he was quickly becoming aware of how much trouble the other created. He was beginning to think he should leave Erik at home but then he would be bored. _I'll be good the rest of the day, I swear_, Charles could hear against his mind as he let the paint dry before drawing in Erik's eyes.

_You'd better or I'll leave you at home!_ Warned the smaller boy. Erik rolled his eyes.

_Yes mother._

Erik fought every instinct as the day progressed. He was doing fairly well by the time Charles hit math class but that was more or less because he'd done some math of his own. According to his mother he had twenty-one months left and the sentence multiplied by two adding onto whatever he had per each 'mistake' that occurred and since he'd stuffed the paintbrush up Byron's nose and pulled Fredric's pants down he was looking at…eighty-four months. Pausing, Erik double-checked the math. Twenty-one months left to serve times two for the paintbrush left him at forty-two and because of Fredric forty-two was increased to eighty-four.

Yep, unfortunately that was right. Take eighty-four months and divide it by twelve for the twelve months in one year and Erik was looking at seven years. He was twelve now so in seven more years he'd be…shit…nearly twenty! Damn Charles and damn the things he did for him! Well…at least he'd get to see Charles go into his 'awkward teen' phase and that should make up for it a bit.

Erik was thoroughly looking forward to what pick-up lines the boy could create.

_While your math is both fascinating and unsettling I need you to keep it in YOUR head because I just wrote eighty-four on my problem and that is NOT the answer_. Erik heard in his head as Charles scratched out the stray number and poked his tongue out, working on the problem. It was hard enough sharing a chair with a ghost much less trying to untangle his numbers from Erik's own math. Charles' thoughts were full of Erik without his help, it seemed. The boy was a curiosity – a ghost but and apparently suffering because of his actions though he had said nothing and performed said actions on Charles' behalf. Charles couldn't be more furious with the boy – HOW COULD HE NOT TELL HIM? – but as the weight shifted and Charles felt Erik carefully balance himself on the back of the seat like he'd done every other class he couldn't hate him.

People were different, Charles realized and Erik wouldn't be Erik if he didn't defend him or keep quiet about the consequences. That was just who he was, and yet Charles couldn't hate him for being himself. Because Erik was Erik Charles liked him. _Sorry Charles, _his friend whispered in their mental connection. The boy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, working out a writing cramp as it seemed the objective of five back-to-back classes was to kill his hand before he achieved proper penmanship.

_Hold your apologies Erik because you'll need them. Why haven't you told me about this…sentence business and how it multiplies? You're in trouble. _Erik could laugh and go unpunished. At least Charles was firming up like Erik had suggested but he never meant Charles to firm up against _him_. After the incident with Cain Charles had confided in Erik that he wished he was more assertive and Erik – since it came easy to him – would give him pointers. One of those pointers was to sound mad about anything and everything because anger made a person seem very serious. Though most of his practice attempts had Erik and Raven cracking up in giggles before Charles finally laughed, himself, the young Xavier certainly wasn't playing this time.

He was very serious. A swell of pride bloomed in Erik – his little Charles was growing up! – and the blue eyes glared at him. Given the events of the day – word traveled fast about the morning art class in this school – the boy next to him shrunk away a bit, thinking those blue eyes were for him. Erik snickered. Since Charles was pulling a full Erik in mannerisms and wicked eye motions Erik would pull a Charles with the only word that could summarize both the odd predicament leading Charles to act like a parent and Erik pretending to be Charles.

_Groovy_, said the metal-bender to the telepath.


	5. Things to Never Speak Of

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p>AN: Sorry for the lack of update. School keeps me SO busy. Our term is almost over and I'm shooting for an 'A' in every class. Hard work, ladies and gents. Hard work. Before I dole out the usual thanks <em><strong>please, please, please, please, PLEASE take the poll on my profile because it's very important.<strong>_

I'll be closing it in about two weeks and I just need the word to spread like wildfire for people to take that thing. If you could and it's no problem just leave a tiny note in a review or PM me saying you took it. Don't say what answer you picked just say you voted so I know I have some results coming in.

Alright, now on to the compliments:

1. xXHeartsXDesireeXx, Kahenia, Valkyrie-Pleasant, Sen2TOS9, Kittendragon, and Darkyu reviewed chapter four. Thank you very much guys, and welcome to the new bloods! :D

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**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter Five: Things to Never Speak Of<p>

Charles gave Erik the smallest of glares to stop him cold at the front door. Since their conversation three days ago it had been decided – mandated by Charles though he wouldn't admit that – Erik would stay home to avoid any sentence extensions. Erik pursed his lips with a snort killing off any objections he had because he knew those blue eyes were unwavering on this. If only he were a mental manipulator like Charles…then he wouldn't have to sit home like an abandoned pup until he came home. Everything in Erik screamed against this decision because – _oh god little Charles! _– harm could come to the younger boy and Erik wouldn't be there to stop him. Not only that, but this was the first _real _day he'd go without Charles until the final bell rang.

He had deemed well enough to go to school on a Thursday and lectured Erik as soon as they were in the safety of his room. Friday's separation had been short-lived because Raven accidentally flared her yellow eyes at a girl who'd messed up her hair. Erik was happy Charles' parental disappointment wasn't focused on him but Raven's young, chubby face and wide, obviously hurt eyes had been enough to diffuse any lectures. It seems those tendencies he stole from a twenty-something-year-old could be negated by little girls. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for ghosts.

Saturday and Sunday passed without incident. Raven obviously needed more training so that was their main focus; Erik was given the task of annoying her so Charles' could teach her the importance of emotional control. From that Erik and Charles were taught something instead of Raven. They learned: Erik could be felt by Raven – Erik knew this, thanks to his mother – and he experienced the normal reaction any boy would feel when getting kicked in the testicles while Charles learned she'd been listening to Erik closer than he'd once assumed. When the boy hissed a string of German profanities his mother would've ripped his ear off for Raven fired back some of her own to the tune of 'You're the one who annoyed me you damn baby! Suck it up!' – the sight of it all had Charles conflicted.

To laugh or not to laugh? Obviously Erik's sharp blue-green eyes that were bluer now against the color of his floor and the loose fall of his hair told him not to laugh. The look of sheer predatory pride controlling Raven's babyish face was convincing him to go against the notion that those narrowed, firm, lightless – _sharp and wonderful – _eyes. Charles had managed to only snort and bite his lip. Other than that the day passed without incident, straight into Monday.

Into this awkward moment where Erik was left stretching a few second's worth of a glimpse to a minute before registering the door had closed. He walked swiftly to the window and pulled back a curtain – completely ignoring his surroundings – to watch the boy duck into a limousine with his sister and head off to school. Erik knew Charles like the back of his hand and knew he'd see those blue eyes in a second when the boy chose to roll down the window and embrace the morning air. Charles' penchant for being completely immersed in his surroundings was something that had always astounded Erik because it didn't matter what his surroundings were…Charles always seemed to fit. The blue eyes seemed to penetrate the large windowpane and touch Erik directly before the familiar limo pulled out of sight.

_I'll be back soon, my friend. Keep out of trouble until I return._

_I think I can manage that, Charles. Have fun at school. If you get beat up I get to come back with you._

_I think I can manage to stay safe, Erik, but thank you anyways._

Something twisted in Erik as he let the curtain fall back into place, cementing the fact that Charles had left for the day. The quiet of the house settled immediately upon him like a pouncing animal. Sighing Erik walked back up to Charles' room. Without Charles it was hard to find something to do because anything he usually did was with Charles. His charge had quickly become far more than a charge; Charles was like a little brother or a limb!

There wasn't much Erik COULD do, anyways, with being a ghost. Regardless of where Charles was the Xavier house was constantly buzzing with hired help. He was only partially accustomed to the rhythm of the house and went to hide in the study until Venelda and the others left the rooms alone. Erik knew at least that much of cleaning to know he wouldn't be safe in Charles' room for long. They liked to get the rooms done early so they would be clean for when Raven and Charles returned.

The study was quiet and largely unused until Kurt came home. It was currently abandoned now; Kurt had decided to take a 'business trip' but whether it was to check on Cain or to escape the growing nagging sessions of Mrs. Xavier Erik couldn't be sure. Kurt did allow Raven and Charles into the room, though, so it wasn't completely devoid of life. As Erik walked alongside the length of the polished wood table he found several children's books and coins from Raven's latest math lesson. Erik wiggled his fingers curiously over the coins only after he'd paused to analyze the seemingly innocent pieces.

Coins were far from innocent to him, thanks to Shaw. Any coin he eyed brought back the memory of a man counting to three, a gun going off, and his inability to do anything with his power. Even now he could hear the metal humming in his veins and could hear it audibly scraping the table as it wanted to move but was given no direction by the metal manipulator. Erik wondered if – despite the distance, somehow finding its way through the halls and into the right classroom – Charles knew what he was thinking about now as the coin jiggled atop the table. Shaw, Shaw, Shaw, Erik felt it like a drum against his temple – it was a pulse, a pulse that made him feel hot, sweaty, and angry.

Shaw reminded him that he still had – or would have had, if he wasn't dead – years to go before mastering his ability. Shaw reminded him that the world was not kind and hatred often produced the best results. Not only hatred but loss and grief, things Shaw was a master of creating. Erik felt winded as he panted, his mind so hazed by the old memories that he wasn't sure if he was holding his breath or if he simply didn't have any air to exhale as the veins in his neck tightened and his fingers clenched above the coins. He wanted them to move just _one inch _so bad and all they seemed to do was mock him by standing still and –

_THOOM! _

Erik blinked, breaking the raging storm consuming his mind. Apparently he could do far more than he thought. The young metal bender hadn't been able to do more than move the coins across the surface of the table but in his inability to raise them the coins had exerted enough pressure on the surface to etch flakes of wood lose. Numerous flakes littered the floor and he stepped back, brushing his pants clean before realizing that the coins had shot off from the table in who knew what direction. Only their impressions remained and Erik briefly, sullenly, wondered if he was back to square one in handling his abilities.

He always seemed to do better with Charles around.

Retiring to Charles' room Erik felt disappointed. He was disappointed because of the table and the coins but mostly he was disappointed with himself for remembering Shaw. That was months ago! Erik reasoned that he should be past something like that but his conscience argued he may never get past it. Some things – such as death and trauma – are never meant to be forgotten.

Maybe not even Charles was good enough to make him forget.

The young Lehnsherr was sure Shaw had cursed him either way. On the one hand the man made him into a rage-fueled machine hell bent on contorting anything with an ounce of metal in it. On the other hand even when – if – he mastered his ability if just for the sake of one day proving Shaw wrong he would always have the memories. Erik would never be perfect because of those memories. It seemed the straps had found a way to bind even his spirit form.

To the left of the bed was a music box. Charles – the magnificent little negotiator that he was – conned Raven into giving it to him. Erik could see why the girl didn't want to let go of it; the music box was perhaps the most obvious evidence of her transition from a poor little beggar to a girl wealthy beyond her wildest dreams. Kurt had brought back the porcelain white box from a business trip – where he seemed to get everything nice – and the inside was laced with red velvet, trimmed with golden loop work on the outside to match the inner lining. It was beautifully detailed down to the tiny ballerina dancer spinning wildly in a circle to a tune Erik didn't know.

Any other person would tell Charles to give it back to Raven. Or tell him it was unbecoming of a young boy to have a music box. But those people weren't Erik, and Erik knew why Charles kept the music box. It was more or less so the young Xavier could tell when Erik was having nightmares. Underneath the velvet and the tiny dancer colored in pastels were numerous metallic pieces that would make her spin erratically and speed the music up when Erik projected his emotions.

Erik paused, stilling his thoughts as he blinked which made the music die almost instantly. Projection was a funny word and had essentially only become something between him and Charles. It was their word because it described both of their talents. Charles could project his wants and scenarios onto those around him and Erik could project his emotions in any room of the house and have the metal respond. Projection was something Charles had learned to handle, and Erik had not…but even Charles had work to do.

At the very moment Erik lay in Charles' bed, sending the tiny dancer slowly spinning again, he was sending his thoughts across town and into a school with little luck. He was sure they'd gotten lost along the way, or didn't even arrive because he knew what Charles felt like inside his mind. Charles was always in his head, whether he was using his power or not. Erik wondered if that was healthy and clapped his hands over his eyes, growling. This is why he didn't like to be alone; if he did he thought too much and usually his thoughts caused him to sulk.

Charles somehow always knew how to avoid that. Even something as dull as explaining his day had a way of turning Erik into a brighter frame of mind. But the clock on the other side of the bed said he was still at school and would be for a long time. His head was so full he couldn't even sleep! If Charles was here he could sleep.

Though Erik hated to admit it the nights when Charles would drool on him and Raven would kick him often gave him the best sleep. Now…after six months of Charles and Raven he didn't quite remember how to be alone. The month he'd been without his mother seemed like a bad dream now, as did Shaw and the lab table and the straps and the needles. He'd even go far enough to say they were all irrelevant. His inability to sleep was bringing up some interesting non-Shaw questions, however, which had actually calmed his raging mind and stifled his disappointment.

They were mostly questions about Charles. What was he doing? Was he okay? Was Charles the reason he was able to sleep so well in this bed? Did Charles do something to his brain to make him sleep at night? Erik sat up at that question, drawing back a particular night before the Cain incident when Charles had started to beat him with a pillow and told him to quit thinking about needles.

It was the first indication that Charles might know more than what he let on but that night had dissolved into laughs and a mad competition to see who the better pillow fighter was. Funnily enough Erik couldn't remember who won. He just remembered not dreaming about needles. Charles had power in excess wrapped in that delicate form. The idea was vague and obvious against Erik's mind but it never ceased to floor him completely each time it presented itself.

He was sure what floored him about Charles and his power was the niceness that he used it with. Hardly anything harmful had been done with his ability that was truly detrimental. The worst of it was perhaps sending Venelda or one of the adults away to buy them some more reading time. Erik did have to say niceness suited Charles well - and was perhaps the reason they got along so well because they were so contradictory but so accommodating to one another – and only highlighted the fact he was far more angelic than Erik would ever be. Even as a guardian angel Charles seemed to outshine him.

Half the time Erik was sure he'd been sent here for his own good instead of the good of Charles. He was equally sure Charles had helped him more than he had helped Charles. There was just something about the young Xavier that influenced stillness. Peace. Softness, sweetness. Everything good that could be good was Charles.

It was probably the long string of thoughts and the idea of Charles being some embodiment of good that finally exhausted Erik, filling him with a sense of sleepiness and peacefulness. Or maybe he was just emotionally spent. His eyelashes fluttered closed over his blue eyes and the boy regarded the clock with one last, blurry look before the music box floated to a stop and he drifted to sleep.

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><p>Charles had been in the bathroom for almost ten minutes now. The hot tears wouldn't stop coursing down his cheeks despite his attempts to wipe them away. All of those snippets from Erik's mind hadn't made sense until now. They were friends, yes, but Charles could always tell Erik was holding something back. It was the way the older boy raised his head, the way his eyed steeled, and the way his mouth somehow managed to smile and completely contradict his cold eyes when Charles wanted to know.<p>

At first he assumed what he'd seen had been a fear of doctors – and he was somewhat correct – but it had been so much more. Images of needles, straps, and of a bright light overhead exploded in his mind's eye as he sat on the closed toilet seat. Thankfully the school thought it was too barbaric to post urinals along the walls or he wouldn't have a place to sit, think, and just try to _breathe_. _How _could Erik not tell him any of this when they'd just had a talk three days ago about hiding things? With something of this depth Charles could understand and though that man – whoever he was – was worth hiding more so than a bizarre punishment system.

Still, didn't Erik know going things alone was not the way to solve them? _How alone he must've felt_, mulled the younger boy as he sat on the toilet with his palms pressed to his eyes. Finally the tears were subsiding; the act of crying left Charles feeling empty and tired. History was the last class of the day so if he could make it through this he could run home soon after. Of course he'd have to wait for Raven to get into the car but he was just ready to go home.

He wanted to go home and hold Erik. He wanted to tell him that it would be okay and that man wouldn't hurt him anymore. Erik had done that for him after the Cain incident, after all, but Cain was far worse than that man he'd seen. His nightmare only came back every two years and sometimes not at all when he felt particularly evil and made himself invisible to Cain's mind but Erik's nightmare…his nightmare came back often. Often enough to send the ballerina spinning almost every night.

Charles felt the tears prick his eyes again at the thought of Erik, the Doctor Man, the needles, and the pain inside the bits he'd seen. Every day Charles learned a bit about what he could do. Long ago he'd learned to keep himself out of people's minds but he was recently learning he could revisit what he'd already seen in someone else's mind as if it was a memory of his own. That made Erik's pain particularly flesh and the muffled scream that happened to escape around all the equipment Charles imagined a dentist to have – not a man like Erik had known because he looked like no dentist – much more chilling. Apparently this 'Holocaust' hadn't been stopped for long but the Government – or whoever mandated class material – had screened enough of it to make a presentable lesson.

The teacher stumbled and stuttered along the basics of this 'Holocaust' to the point where Charles was infuriated. He felt like he was being talked to like a child. That and he felt like the teacher knew far more than what he was saying so Charles peeked into his mind. Inside the man's mind he could see him read papers upon papers of recovered documents copied from who knew where and news clippings dating back to about a month concerning the 'grim details' of concentration camps. The body toll still climbed, even when the news was a month old, and Charles assumed that far more than Erik had died which was surprising because the number he'd read in the paper was quite large.

Not only had those thin, tiny people been starved but most were very sick. Some had been completely alone after the camps because their parents – sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles – had been killed. They had been subjected to great injustices such as being washed together, getting their clothes and possessions taken from them, and even some of their teeth. All of the survivors were said to have a tattoo, he learned from the teacher's mind, so he'd check Erik when he got home. Most if not all tattoos were on the arms.

The fact that he hadn't known about it, that he hadn't been told hurt just as much as learning it from another person's mind. Why wouldn't Erik tell him directly? Didn't he trust him? Those questions fell by the wayside; he just wanted to get home and tell Erik he was so very, very sorry for making him stay home alone. He should never have to be alone, and if Charles had anything to do with it Erik would never be alone.

Never again.

When he got home he'd lift Erik's ban on coming to the school. Charles had realized that he couldn't contact him from such a distance. The distance from his house to the school proved to be too much and not even a hint of Erik's mind could be felt. Not only did that made him feel bad with what he'd just learned but it also made him feel terribly alone. It was here Charles had to realize he wasn't sure how to function without Erik.

He didn't care if it was a dry, humorous remark or just him being there but the lack of anything that made Erik _Erik _caused Charles to feel lost. Scared, even. Like he was alone. His head hurt, but whether it was from the crying or the general feeling of missing an arm because there was no Erik here to sit on the back of his chair and no Raven to make him smile with their ages and classes being different he didn't know. _I want time to speed up_, thought the boy dismally, _I want it to be time to go home so I can see Erik. I want Erik, I want Raven, and I to be home NOW._

The boy only stopped thinking that when the echo of the final bell bounced off the bathroom door. Was that coincidence or had he done that? Charles stood up, never really needing to use the bathroom in the first place, and managed a shaky sigh. _Plip! _He looked between his feet where a red dot had landed precisely between his feet and touched his nose cautiously. His nose was bleeding!

Another dot landed on his dress slacks and Charles stuffed some toilet paper to his nose before a chance presented itself to ruin his shirt. That was both alarming and curious. His nose had never bled like that before…well, it had once when Cain punched him but never of its own accord. Charles came out of the bathroom, throwing up a mental illusion that he wasn't holding toilet paper to his nose, to find Mr. Conners standing with Raven by the bathroom door. Apparently everyone was leaving for the day and he'd yet to come back from the bathroom so the teacher was waiting with Raven until he returned.

How long was he in there, anyways?

"Charles! Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt?"

"No Raven, not at all." Answered Charles. Of course she'd think he'd have stomach troubles. That's what delayed most boys for such a long time. That or an extreme need to use the bathroom. "I'm just tired. Let's go home, shall we?"

"Goodbye, Charles."

"Goodbye, Mr. Connors. See you tomorrow."

Raven didn't want to say anything in front of the chauffer but she knew something was up. She'd been on the streets long enough to be 'street smart' and around Charles long enough to know how it felt to have an illusion in her head. Something was wrong with him. Saying nothing Raven just grabbed his hand, giving it a small squeeze. That was no illusion, and it gave Charles the notion Raven may be slightly immune with their time together, and he just accepted the squeeze, giving a tiny squeeze back.

In a matter of minutes they were back home and Charles resisted every urge to throw his stuff down and run up to his room. He wasn't even sure if Erik would be in his room – what with being alone all day? He'd probably wandered off…- but something in him knew he would be. Something that didn't require telepathy. Raven wasn't sure what was going on but went to her room as Charles asked only after making a deal with him that he would tell her what was going on and wouldn't do anything funny to her brain. Charles bolted up to his room and refrained from throwing the door wide open; instead he crept in quietly and set his school bag down after seeing Erik asleep.

He looked so peaceful. It made Charles curious as to how he could look so quiet and content when he'd seen what he'd seen. When it had all finally made sense. Charles resisted the idea to make Erik look slightly like _Sleeping Beauty_ – if not for Raven's fun than his own – because the boy hardly moved and just seemed like the picture perfect representation of stillness and peace. Something about blonde didn't fit Erik, and he'd seen him as a brunette _forever _but the imagined reddish-orange hue of his hair was quite amusing.

Then he could look like a pasty Raven. The sight of Erik resembling anything of a girl was laughable in itself but Charles found the short red hair he'd given his friend to be quite mesmerizing. "If you don't stop that I'll stick the ballerina up your nose." Warned Erik. Charles flushed. He must've projected that. "Imagining me as a girl, anyways. What's wrong with you?"

"Needed a laugh," managed Charles weakly. He hadn't really planned how to tell Erik what he knew, or that he'd felt all of those emotions but he hadn't planned on crying in any scenario. Charles found that his throat hurt and he couldn't say anything. The muscles moved but all he managed was whispers. Soon, without any regard as to actually what had made Charles Xavier so weepy Erik found himself taking the younger boy in his arms and just holding him. Erik vaguely remembered being so awe-struck when his mother would come from the kitchen, clean herself, and just hold him without any regard as to what he was doing.

_"Everyone needs to be held sometimes,"_ He could hear her say as if she was right next to him. And that was true. Sometimes there was just a day bad enough where a hug was the only remedy. Today was one of those days. Charles cried for a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes, but while he was physically unable to talk to Erik and emotionally a wreck their minds were perfectly in tune.

What Charles knew, Erik knew. What Erik knew confirmed the details in the papers Charles had seen through Mr. Connors' eyes. It made Charles cry harder. When at last his sniffles subsided Charles found a rolled up sleeve marking the last number in a line of numbers staring at him. The ink was dark, maybe blue-green or just a really dark green with tints of blue but the tattoo was still there.

Erik had to admire with the odd twist in his belly the tenderness in which Charles held his arm. The tattoo had hurt beyond imagination when they etched it into his skin but Charles held his arm as if he could take it all away. Erik would never forget but just the act…the determination and the pain in those young blue eyes…it was enough to pretend he'd never felt a thing. Anything other than the admiration for his good heart and compassion, that is. "We are never to speak of this," heard Erik despite the fact Charles seemed to be buried in his chest and was thought to be asleep.

"Of what?" asked Erik softly. There was nothing more soothing than playing with hair, his mother had spoiled him on that, and the act of carding his fingers slowly through Charles' hair seemed to be putting him to sleep. The boy needed a good rest after all of that crying, not only that but the bloody nose. Erik hadn't missed it but seeing as how it had dried and Charles had cried over him he figured there would be a better time to ask of its origins.

"Your tattoo," Charles grabbed his forearm softly. "Any of those things that happened back there…it hurts your feelings. We won't talk about it. Ever."

"Fine." Erik didn't really care to talk about it, anyways. "Are we allowed to talk about your bloody nose, then? Does this mean I get to come back?"

"Yes, you can come back." Charles tightened the one arm that had found its way under Erik's back. He was a hugger, after all. "But I think I gave myself the bloody nose," admitted the boy. Erik raised his eyebrow curiously. How could Charles give himself a bloody nose?

Well…he could punch himself in the nose but Charles didn't seem like the type for that. "It could be coincidence but when I wanted to come home, to leave school, the final bell rang. Everybody was leaving and it was like I'd sped up time or something. When I came to my nose was bleeding. I think its coincidence but my nose has never bled like that before…" could Charles really be that strong? Erik didn't know what to make of that explanation. The younger boy had never really pushed himself before concerning his power. Was that the sign of his limitation, bleeding?

"You didn't answer my question," Erik realized as he was finally satisfied with the bizarre nature of the bloody nose. Charles shifted just so to lay his head back down in the groove of Erik's shirt. "Are we allowed to talk about your bloody nose?"

"No," said Charles quickly. "If I don't have control Raven might be scared. She looks up to us. We have to both seem composed. We're never to speak of this."

"I know something else you don't wanna talk about!" Raven's head popped through the ajar door and she grinned impishly. Charles bolted up, his hair mussed, and frowned deeply at her. Wasn't she asked to stay in her room? Obviously she was nosy…

"Oh?" Erik would humor her. She wouldn't be his to humor very long, given that rule. None of them knew her birthday, and she couldn't remember it. Raven was just 'pretty sure' she was ten. No parents were around to confirm the open-ended question so Erik wasn't entirely sure if she was even ten, or that he had three years until he essentially disappeared to her. In the safety of Charles' room she turned her hair dark brown, long and curly to accent the beauty mark under the right brown eye as her frame heightened a little and her skin turned a pasty color.

Erik was lost. "Give me a kiss Charles, I think you're _cute_!" Raven puckered her lips obnoxiously and crawled across the bed. Charles rolled off of bed nearly colliding with the nightstand to avoid her. After Raven finished laughing like a wicked she-devil Erik learned about a girl named Margret McKinnon and of Charles alleged fear of girls. Charles' defense was the fact that he was only two months past eleven – two months and three weeks anyone _had _to know – and girls shouldn't _want _to kiss him because he didn't want to kiss them.

They were only eleven for Pete's sake! And girls were crazy! Erik found this highly amusing and perfect ammo to use later on down the road. Raven finally managed to quit laughing when Charles unleashed his best rendition of Erik's lethal glare. "Again," he addressed Raven with a pointed warning finger while eyeing the two of them, "we're never to speak of any of this!"

"Margret," teased Erik and Raven simultaneously. Charles could swear they were telepathic, or at best twin nuisances. How they picked up on each other's mischief he wouldn't know. He flashed his blue eyes and they giggled. Folding his arms and bringing back the picture of Erik with short red hair and adding to that an awful pink dress like his mother would wear to highlight her blonde hair Charles grinned.

That should shut them both up. Raven collapsed in mad giggles. Erik was furious. "Erika." Teased Charles. Raven was quick to pick up on the feminization and began to skip around his room singing, "Erika! Erika!" when she managed to quit laughing.

_I hate you Charles._

_Nonsense, you love me!_

_We're never to speak of this!_

_Finally we agree on something. I think you look rather nice, my friend._


	6. Struggles Beyond Those of Power

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p>Hey guys! Thanks for all the nice reviews on the last chapter! I tell you it makes the writing process really worth when people seem to enjoy this. Happy Thanksgiving (or belated, not sure if I'll get it out on Thanksgiving or not) or happy holidays to those who don't celebrate Thanksgiving.<p>

IMPORTANT NOTE:** I close the poll tomorrow so if you haven't voted, VOTE** because we are going to have a close call otherwise. Grab your neighbor, grab your cat, ask the family fish to vote and make it count! Defend your favorite pairing!

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I appreciate and take very seriously every review given to the story because that helps me grow and figure out how to shape the rest of it so I want to thank everyone for the gracious reviews! Though I love them all and shouldn't pick favorites the one I like the best thus far is **Kyrene once Bloody Roses** because it was hearty and gave me plenty to think about. As always, leave comments, questions and opinions in the reviews!

Have two endings planned‼ Don't know how many chapters left…maybe five? (Three real, two endings?)

**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever**

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><p>Chapter Six: Struggles Beyond Those of Power<p>

Since that day so long ago where Erik learned that Charles was just as human as he used to be – angelic predisposition or not – he'd been back at school guarding Charles like he'd never been made to stay at home. Two years had passed without incident and without much thought because the Xavier household had a routine only three knew about. Charles and Raven kept quiet about Erik since they were thirteen and twelve respectively and to talk about an imaginary friend _still _would be odd. Otherwise every day was like it had been; Erik would accompany Charles and Raven to school, find a way to be remotely good during the day, and spend the evening in Charles' room watching the two finish homework. If the routine wasn't kept up the quietness of the house would really strike; Kurt always seemed to be gone now and there was a lingering, brief fear Cain would return.

The step-sibling rarely failed to miss the two year mark.

Mrs. Xavier was constantly lost in a bottle of booze if she was home at all. Such elements made for a bad situation if Cain returned. Erik would be their only defender but that was okay because that was how it had always been. Sure the servants were there but if they wanted a job and a check they wouldn't step in since opposing Cain would put their paychecks in jeopardy, or so Erik assumed. Venelda would probably take a good swing at him as she'd failed to change over the years but even the fiercest of people had times when they bit their tongue for the greater good.

Erik was a prime example and felt like he was stuck in such a moment. He swore he wasn't born bad. The need to defend and exude a guarding state just snuck up on him as naturally as blinking happened. Though two years had passed and Charles has created his own way of deflecting bullies – subtly bending their minds and thoughts until they forgot whatever it was that made them approach him – Erik fought the urge like a bad itch. Maybe it was because he was fourteen and trapped in the mental state of a teenager despite being completely hindered from exploring anything associated with 'teen' due to his ghostly status, Erik reasoned.

Or maybe it was simply Charles, as it had always been. That thought seemed to better survive than the idea all of this…protectiveness was just a new mindset brought on by changes that should be happening to him. Changes that _were _happening to Charles. Erik had noticed he'd changed a little bit – how, he didn't know. He was dead! Maybe it was all Charles? – but Charles seemed to have changed much more. Maybe it was because he knew Charles so well that the changes were glaringly obvious?

He still had those same baby blue eyes but they twinkled mischievously now with just a dash of innocence. More or less his eyes were alight with curiosity now more than anything. Curiosity for all of the school subjects, for his powers, and for girls. Erik thought he'd never see the day when Charles Xavier – the boy who used to throw himself off the bed at the sight of Raven pretending to be someone from school as she tried to kiss him – would willingly approach a girl. But it had happened and Charles Xavier was quickly looking like less of an angel when he would tell him in total male pride about being able to utilize his telepathy for the sake of conversations.

Not the worst thing a telepath could do, Erik knew, but still…his Charles? The idea of Charles even associating with a girl that wasn't Raven still made Erik wrinkle his nose. If Charles started to gain friends with the newfound safety net of his telepathy would this mean Erik could be reassigned? After all – he still remembered it, clear as a bell – Charles had wished for a friend to keep him company without being paid that night they met. Erik could hardly believe they'd spent some three years together.

Those three years full of German lessons, books aplenty, pillow fights, private talks, and so much more had nearly blinded Erik to the fact that he was dead and Charles was not. That Charles would grow and eventually not need him at all, or so he feared. There wasn't a day now that he noticed the broadening shoulders and heightening frame of his British friend that Erik didn't fear it. Charles was growing up and would soon be the only thing he had when next year came. Next year Raven would be unable to see him and Charles would really be the sole reason Erik was sane.

Only Charles would be able to see him then and…and _GOD _what would he do if Charles thought he wouldn't need him anymore? The idea chilled him to the core. He pulled out of his thoughts to focus on the unruly brunette curls before him and squeezed Charles' shoulders lightly. A bad habit had been made of sitting directly behind the boy, on the back of his chair, and virtually any other spot that could keep them in contact with one another. Never more than arm's length apart.

A smooth roll of his shoulders answered the pinch and Erik felt the lowest curl at the nape of his neck brush his fingers. Charles was trying his damnedest to concentrate on this Latin lesson but with Erik around concentration never came in full. The pressure of his friend's long fingers fell directly over a bad knot he was developing from hunching over when he returned home to do his work and Charles barely withheld a sigh. That would look odd in class but the best comfort of all – hands or not – was knowing that Erik was with him. That he was with Erik and he was doing his utmost to prove everything that tattoo on his forearm stood for wasn't all that was left of the world.

Erik was not one to easily change his opinions, however, and thought the world simply "runneth over" in hidden evils. That paranoia was also endearing to Charles. Such a state meant he and Raven would be protected at all times; especially now since Erik had become quite the master of metal. He and the elder Lehnsherr had their own practice when Raven was asleep for the night and every night for two years metal clashed with the mind until they felt prepared enough. As prepared as they should feel for mutant teenagers, anyways, when other things were happening to their bodies.

Charles found thirteen to be an odd age. His mind and body were opened to a world's worth of new sensations. Simple things like Erik scratching at the back of his hair or just the heat his friends seemed to carry were very lulling elements. Even now he felt like he could sleep in the class if the Latin wasn't so hard to absorb. He was glad he'd learned to shield his mind because if anyone had looked into it at this very moment it would be a mess.

It was a mess he, himself, was still trying to sort. Charles felt trapped in a maze he inadvertently created. Questions, conversations, memories, flittering images vaguely registering as external happenings, and the occasional unprompted tidbit concerning a classmate left him many pathways to walk in his ever-thirsty brain. All of it collided, fused, and bombarded him at one time. In a body transitioning into manhood such a thing wasn't welcome because it only added to the problem, a problem mostly phrased as: _why am I always thinking of Erik_?

Because he was and didn't know why.

The notion it was because Erik was always around and knew him like no one else could often presented itself. But that was far too simple to be an answer because in reality it was much more complex than that. It went beyond knowing someone and almost every aspect of them – it was more like…more like…

Love.

Initially it was hard to wrap his head around, that idea, because it was improper. According to society, anyways. Boys couldn't love boys. It wasn't natural. Charles wasn't unaccustomed to the _un_natural, however because he was a walking secret attesting to the fact that the unnatural existed. As was Erik and Raven.

But the more he pondered it and the Latin lecture fell away the more Charles realized that's all it could be. Love was the only thing that properly encompassed everything that Erik was concerning the Xaviers. He was a strong guardian, a listening ear, a brilliant mind, his friend, the sense of safety in ever connotation of the word, and at points the dose of reality Charles needed when he thought too brightly of the world. Only someone who loved could expose the world for what it was and do it without leaving so much as a scratch on the one they wanted to spare such injustices. No girl could ever know him like Erik could, and Charles had the tiniest feeling of remorse that the thought was true.

As much as he didn't want it to be something told him it was. Every now and then Charles caught something like a spark fluttering past his mind – gradually he'd come to think of it as something much too far ahead in the future for him to see. A spark bolted across his mind as he cautiously considered no woman – now or later – ever being able to hold a candle to Erik. If he didn't agree with the spark, pretend he'd never seen it; he could imagine for a little while longer he'd be normal somehow. On a genetic level Charles would never be normal so maybe if he tried to like a girl it would distract from that fact.

Unfortunately he couldn't bring himself to like a girl, or at least any of the ones in his class. Yes, he smiled at them and yes he listened to them but few were genuinely nice. Most were just as lost in their hormones as him and trying to get that rush – a kiss, a touch, a brush, _acknowledgement_ – by using him. If it wasn't that they knew – by some means – the Xaviers were wealthy and tried to cuddle up to his good side when their birthday drew near. Charles had always hoped and kept an open eye for the truly good of the human species, the normals, but imagined they must be outside Westchester Preparatory School.

His classmates knew they had money and weren't afraid to flaunt it or remind others that they had it. Such trivial things disgusted him. Who cared about who had what? Why should they care about something like that? It was obvious to Charles that these people had never seen – or simply disregarded – the awful extreme contrasting great wealth; an extreme represented by Raven and possibly by Erik.

If not for Erik and Raven Charles feared he might be just as bad as his classmates. But he knew the other side. From Raven he knew true hunger and from Erik…my GOD from Erik he learned so much. Though they never spoke of the tattoo – 214782, Charles knew it like he knew Raven was blue – occasionally Erik would offer up streams of emotions from his memories as a symbol of trust. Erik had taught him true pain, true grief, and the sheer power of rage brought on by Sebastian Shaw.

Charles knew little about Shaw aside from the snippets he'd seen that day in the bathroom where they were the strongest but every time they thought of him metal hummed. It hummed now, drawing him out of his thoughts. Though the pipes and beams were hidden behind various materials that made the walls Erik could feel them and Charles knew Erik was causing them to wriggle. Here Charles had to accept that he and Erik were intertwined on a level he wouldn't have expected. The young Xavier _knew _he wasn't projecting anything about Shaw and yet it was as if Erik knew and brought on the only natural response he had for that man: anger.

_I'm here, Erik. That man isn't. He won't get your mind…I won't let him. I'm in your mind, my friend, not him._

The room quieted. Checking behind her shoulder where the pipes and beams lay the teacher gradually dismissed the noise and turned back to the lecture. Charles felt his chest ease back down and the tension drain from him. Erik had the ability to worry him like no one he'd ever known. He was immeasurably strong in ways Charles couldn't imagine – how else could he have survived a month without his mother in that horrible place? – but so exceptionally fragile that his head spun just thinking about it.

_I know,_ came the tentative sigh that sounded like Erik was uttering it through a locked jaw, _I just don't like thinking of you and him at the same time. He must never know of you Charles…I couldn't handle that. You or Raven. You must never know that man as I knew him._

_But I do, _Charles whispered tentatively to Erik's mental voice. He could hear the hoarse strain in the other's voice meaning Erik was stressing the importance of hiding them away or was about to get mad. _I was there with you_, reminded the younger boy as he tried to ease the mounting sense of hatred, guilt, and every other negative emotion essentially creating a blind spot in Erik's mind because of its strength. Those emotions were never for Charles, never directed _at _Charles but that never helped the telepath take them any better. A ghost having ghosts was something hard to picture and even more so when the ghost was a teenager.

Charles could at least acknowledge historians had been right about something. Throughout time history had detailed the obstacles experienced by teenagers in every time period and being a teenager was no easier in the 1940's than it had been any other time. Especially since teenagers such as himself and Erik were mutants. The young Xavier sighed through his nose when those fingers tightened cautiously along the muscles of his shoulders because Frederic passed by to answer a grammar sentence on the board. It was a well-meaning squeeze indicating protection but that didn't mean Charles was always prepared for Erik's overprotective ways.

As they struggled to deal with so many changes invading their comfortable routine – being teenagers, teaching Raven, teaching one another, just being friends – Charles was struggling to teach Erik about _relaxing_. He considered the concept may never be grasped but found they contradicted one another for Erik to know Charles would always be the calm. If he was calm then Erik was always permitted to be the feisty, sarcastic, protective sort he was so they could have balance. Innately he was sure Erik knew that which is why neither of them were bothered by the instinctive occasional clutch stilling Charles with a sense of safety and Erik a sense of duty. At best the occasional squeezes kept Charles awake, at worst it reminded him that a friend was there.

That a friend would always be there.

Charles felt a tad guilty about being alive, warm, and socializing with all of the other children but he knew Erik would never be replaced. That was near impossible. As the class ended and Charles moved to his last class of the day he was aware of Erik's presence and that awareness roused warmth in him. Replacing Erik would be impossible because Charles would always need him. Only with Erik did he feel remotely confident like the day he'd told off Fredric and the others when getting his and Raven's schedules.

Only with Erik was he safe.

He felt exhausted by the time he met up with Raven to go home almost an hour later. The boy wagered his thoughts had literally exhausted him because they were complex and he was trying to fight them off. A few girls told him bye, giggling and bunching together, and Charles merely waved before tucking himself into the limo. Raven told him about her day as they drove home and continued to tell him about every tiny detail as if he wasn't trying to haul a heavy bag into the house and up the stairs to his room. Raven's one-sided chatter died instantly when the long figure grinned coolly from the opposite end of the hallway, his blonde hair partially highlighted by the sun streaming through the windows.

Honestly Cain being home wasn't something Charles had expected. He realized Cain would be home sometime soon but hadn't considered he'd be looking him in the face. Erik was discreet and only because Charles knew to look for signs when the mental and physical hush came from his friend could he see the metal locks on the large windows swiveling. Charles eyed Cain, drawing himself up and trying to look older, more threatening, but the attempt deflated when the blonde merely thumped him good once on the chest uttered 'hey dork!' and passed him by to go out the front door. Cain nonchalantly mentioned running laps and working on his 'quads' while Kurt and Sharon left him in charge until they returned from the theatre.

Charles could care less what the oaf did. As long as he, Raven, and Erik were left alone he didn't care! Avoiding confrontation was enough of a reason to smile and Charles walked – still bloated with awe –- to his room almost dreamily to settle into the routine he'd established with the others. Raven got a bit impatient if she didn't get her daily chapter read to her, anyways. They were reading from a large book of fairytales that was actually a new story each chapter so she enjoyed it.

From the window Charles could see Cain running laps. Essentially looking harmless but the boy knew better. He would be up to something sooner or later. Charles was surprised the idea of being in almost the exact same spot where Cain first presented a gun didn't impair him but he didn't think much of it. If push came to shove he had Erik, and if push REALLY came to shove he had himself.

His nose hadn't really bled since that day, anyways. Charles tried to be careful after that incident but knew there were always exceptions. He aimed to have as few as possible in his lifetime. Raven had conned a story out of Charles and another out of Erik with both being repeated in German for her delight. It always amazed Charles to watch how fluently – like water – Erik switched between languages and though German could make the sentences sound odd it brought a certain magic to the story nonetheless.

"Hey, I found something in the yard. Thought you might want to look." Cain would make Venelda absolutely rabid with the dirt caked about his shoes and the soil still falling off the head of the shovel. Charles felt a spark arc across his mind but stood nonetheless, telling Raven to go play tea with her Erika doll. That was code between the two boys meaning Erik was to stay with Raven. Erik was furious he couldn't be a telepath, too, at times like this when Charles' sapphire eyes hardened like the stones they resembled. Something was amiss and he wasn't sharing.

Nonetheless he followed Raven and tried stubbornly to break through that cement-like barrier Charles had thrown about his mind. Maybe he intended to have a 'man-to-man' with Cain or would try to change his personality and that was why Erik was being kept out. Any scenario the young Lehnsherr could make still didn't ease the doubt. Raven played nervously with her dolls, doing more watching out the open window than playing. _Play, Raven…_came the gentle demand as she sighed and motioned for Erik to get the box of accessories she couldn't reach.

With her doll dressed to go to the 'mall' she could now say she was playing as Charles asked. Fixing the tiny plastic purse and pretending to walk her to the table set up for a fake tea party Raven turned to the window. She had intended to tell Charles that she was playing and ask what it was Cain had found but her heart leapt in her throat when she saw no Charles to speak of outside the large window. Only Cain and a shovel as the large mounds of dirt built up on either side began to go back into the hole. Erik was out of the room and shooting through walls and doors like only a ghost could to get outside once he and Raven put two and two together.

Cain was burying Charles alive.

The rush of panic hit him with as much force as Raven kicking him in the testicles those years ago. It caused Erik to suck in a poor breath and forget about exhaling it as the level of dirt rose and Cain patted off the top layer. Charles was under there! Erik's heart was full throttle and he felt a 'blind spot' coming on, only vaguely aware of Charles being buried striking a chord similar to the one strummed when his mother had been taken before his eyes.

One only previously strummed by Shaw.

Cain stuck the tip of the shovel in the dirt, impaling it as he leaned his weight into the handle. He gave a small laugh. It would be nothing to dig the runt back up again, and really it was Charles' own fault for thinking Cain wanted to show him something. Everyone tasted dirt sometimes…now it was just his turn. The shovel was ripped out from under his arm so fast Cain didn't even realize he'd hit the dirt.

Erik looked down at Cain, his nostrils flared in pure horror and he wanted with every fiber of his being to smash his head open with the shovel. He would do it. He would. The consequences were irrelevant when Charles was the victim time and time again. If he killed Cain now the nuisance would never come back.

He swung with all his might and wondered if the boy could see him. Probably not but he imagined himself to be a very visible, very pissed young boy about to kill an older boy. The shovel bounced back as if it had hit some invisible force and Erik swung harder, garnering the same result. It baffled him and hurt every muscle in his arm to even angle the shovel like he was going to use it as a weapon but then he heard it. Heard Charles.

Panic flooded him like nothing he'd ever felt and Erik had felt his world crumble with his mother's lifeless body.

_Ohgodohgodohgod! I can't breathe…dirt, dirt, dirt, dirt! Too much weight…I taste blood. I taste dirt. Erik get me out. I CAN'T BREATHE! _

He vaguely registered the string of curses Raven howled before tackling Cain to the ground in sheer feminine rage and proceeding to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Erik staked the shovel in the ground – not caring who saw – and began to pull dirt out as fast as he could managed. He remembered the feel of the pick in his hand at the camps the day he died and knew a shovel paled in comparison to a pick when his body had been that tired. Especially when that shovel was going to reach Charles. A pale and grabbed just beneath the head and Erik grunted, finding strength to lift the tool that was full of dirt and carried Charles' weight.

Charles sputtered big chunks of soil and hacked until all he could taste was dirt. He felt ashamed for being tricked and utterly pissed for almost being killed. Erik could only work with metal and it was by the grace of god Cain had civility enough to use a shovel for this plot. Had he gone the primitive route and dug such a deep hole with his hands Erik may not have been able to get to him. Charles didn't want to think of that and concentrated instead of snorting the dirt from his nose so he could distinguish how bad his bloody nose was.

If he wasn't a mutant he would've suffocated but he didn't want to think about that, either. His uniform was terribly ruined, perhaps beyond a good wash, and Charles snarled. With his mind alone he splintered the shovel into little pieces, leaving himself a lengthy bit of wood to snatch. Everything in him begged his hand not to follow through with the uncharacteristic anger and the whisper against his conscience but since Cain was still standing from Raven's beating Charles could call it defense. Cain hated beatings, anything striking him, because of the disciplinary episodes with the belt and Charles knew this.

And Charles still hit him as many times as he could before his parents intervened. Kurt managed to wrestle the broken piece from his hands, probably leaving him a gift of splinters and Charles hissed. Something in him liked hurting Cain. Something dark. He felt Erik's arms clench him so tightly from behind that his air caught in his chest.

_None of that Charles_, urged the older boy, _you can't be like this!_

_Yes I can! _Snapped the telepath. He was so utterly fed up that it was ridiculous. Because of his gifts he knew the true intentions of people and he was getting tired of trying to be nice when they weren't. Especially when faced with such a person as Cain. Charles wanted to go crazy just one time, because maybe if he really lost it everything _bad _would leave him alone.

He'd be tough, like Erik. Charles certainly wasn't about to let him do anything given that sentence he still had to carry out. _No_, the familiar voice whispered now. Slower, quieter, gentler, deeper: _you are mein harmless bärchen. You are not allowed to get your hands dirty._

_Neither are you, or did you forget that you're the angel between us? _Teased Charles as the anger began to settle because he'd all but stolen his parent's free will to make sure they understood just how long he wanted Cain to go away. And just how bad of a place he wanted him sent to. The worst type of disciplinary, military-esk school there was!

_No I'm not, Charles. No I'm not. _There was a weakness in Erik's reply that made Charles' heart flip. He forgot sometimes that the Holocaust survivor was human, or even weak with how strong he always seemed to be. Dirt fell from his tainted locks and Charles gave a shaky sigh, reveling in the feeling of Erik completely surrounding him. Safe once more. Sharon and Kurt were at each other once again, sometimes uniting against Cain and other times blaming one another for not being there to keep an eye out on Charles and Raven.

Sharon held Cain by his ear as Kurt collected his things – again – and sought to take him by the local prison before enlisting him in any type of strict school that would take him. He wasn't sure where the notion had come from but he was angry – utterly disappointed and recovering from a near heart attack! – and that seemed to be the best idea yet! The prison should teach him a thing or two about picking on people! Charles pushed his parents away and didn't wait to watch them leave so he could go get a shower. The faster he failed to taste of dirt and blood, the better!

His mouth finally tasted like mouthwash instead of dirt and his hair smelled like mint instead of soil and blood. The fact that he could be left alone with his thoughts was just a bonus. Perhaps it was the curtain of steam trapped in the bathroom or the feeling of water setting him in a world apart as it pummeled his back but Charles at last felt like himself again. Not angry just…peace. Dressing in a new set of casual clothes the young Xavier continued to towel off his hair as he made his way to his room, watching Erik peel a bandage off the adhesive lining and put it over the scrape Raven had on her chin.

Such a tender act made him smile. Erik looked coarse on the outside but that was just an illusion. Erik looked up and those vulnerable blue eyes were soft in a way Charles had only ever known them. "Feel better?" Erik inquired cautiously, no longer able to see blood or smell raw earth. Charles nodded, smiling slightly as he cleaned his ears.

"Exponentially," replied the younger boy as he folded the towel over his arm and shook his head. "And I'm beginning to think Cain has a saving grace." Erik snorted. Maybe Charles had been trapped a bit too long underground. Charles tisked, shaking the towel at him for shooting him down so quickly. "Without him I wouldn't have realized something that may eventually benefit mutant kind if not teenagers everywhere – mutant or not."

"Do share," Erik requested, "this I have to know."

"There is a point of balance between the extremes of our emotions. The point lies between rage and serenity. When we find it we are fully functional in a way that surpasses all we considered ourselves to be capable of." Erik considered it, bobbing his head from side to side as the idea rolled with the motion. That made a bit of sense. His powers worked well when he was calm and though they worked when he was angry there had been a point where he was truly tapping into his power – the point halfway between the extremes.

"Perhaps," agreed Erik which was the best Charles would get out of him, he knew.

"And such a thought can be applied to our lives now. We're teenagers—"

"I'm not!" Raven pointed out, glaring lightly at her brother. She wouldn't glare too hard because he'd just been stuck under a bunch of dirt but sometimes Charles tended to forget she was the youngest. It was probably because he spent so much time up Erik's butt! Erik never forgot!

"Yes I know," continued Charles, patting her on the head despite the nasty glare such an act conjured, "but as teenagers coming into this new stage of life I feel we'll do it safer and be more successful if we just remember that there is always a point." Erik could tell when Charles had a new phrase to add to his arsenal. If he had to guess, by the look of sheer joy Charles got on his face and the way he cued his hands as if to raise an imaginary band, this one would stay. And probably be used as much as 'my friend'. He could see the words lining up in his brain before his mouth even opened to speak them. Erik couldn't help but grin despite how predictable Charles might be.

It was what made Charles who he was.

"The point between rage and serenity." Erik offered as he merely echoed Charles. They smiled. This was such a point and where they stood now was the perfect center between the serenity of their childhood and the future raging chaos they faced as they grew. The young Lehnsherr told himself he'd need to remember that saying if anything at all because it was actually decent…it had substance. He didn't think he'd forget it, however, because he had Charles to look at.

Charles was perhaps the best representation of that spot.


	7. Utterly Alone

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p>Only <strong>mildetryth<strong> and **Black-Dranzer-1119 **(welcome new blood!)reviewed chapter six. I was a bit surprised to see only two but hey – I've been spoiled in my opinion to have even received 26 reviews thus far. Thank you everyone for your kind words! Also, thank you for taking the poll.

If you don't know:

1. Erik/Charles won with Sean/Alex coming a close second and Hank/Sparkle (only other choice with a vote) came dead last. Do people not like that pairing? One thing I need is feedback concerning OC's and I would love some on Charles/Meagan, Hank/Sparkle!

2. I've been rolling the idea around in my head for another AU story where there may or may not be mutant powers. It's essentially "boys .v. girls" spy style with Emma facing off against Shaw and crew to see who has the best team of spy mutants. If I make it it'll be called "Bragging Rights". Would you read it? Let me know anything and everything about the feedback. It would really help build the OC's‼

(Emma, Raven, Meagan, and Brandi .vs. Shaw, Erik, Charles, and Hank) debating feminine Sean and male Alex.

3. Amara Calla, Aquata (welcome!), Chaos Raider Tenshi, CrimsonAmethyst, DeathTrapDaisy, donnabella2k7, Doyle0915, Dreamcreator, Flo des bois, ForensicHistory15, GoddessOfTheVampires, hahasux4u, horrorfan1980s, I-Write-Mush-And-I-Like-It, Icook93, Luv2Swim, lyssy31, ninjaeris13, redspirite (welcome!), remembrance88, Sen2TOS9, The 11th Doctor's Mermaid Sam, xXHeartsXDesireeXx, yAoI-tEnShI1412, and Your-Gothic-Angel all have this on their favorites list.

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**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter Seven: Utterly Alone<p>

It happened. It finally happened and Erik felt like he couldn't breathe. No, he wasn't getting his body back – he wouldn't be afraid of that – on the contrary it was much worse. Raven had hit thirteen and he had disappeared as easily as wiping a stain from a dish. Quite unexpectedly, really, they'd been fixing their attires for the first school dance, only half-interested in going since the only motivation they had was the constant stress of importance upon social status from Mrs. Xavier, and just like that he disappeared. Erik had his own theories – maybe the clock struck the exact time Raven was born thus making her 'truly' thirteen? – but the quiver in her disguised bottom lip didn't help.

Not only was today her birthday – how Charles managed to be certain in his findings Erik didn't know – but today was the dance, _the dance _where eighth graders got together before they went off to high school and the underclassmen were invited if they were popular or lucky. It was supposed to be a magical evening concocted somewhere in between Raven becoming a teenager and dancing in fine clothes for the first time in the first place that really mattered to her…but it wasn't magical. It was odd, borderline scary. Erik had just _disappeared! _Only Charles' gradually shrinking eyes still managing to hold curiosity with a sliver of calm kept him from total panic.

Mrs. Xavier gently tied the bow at Raven's back and pressed it softly to create the perfect shape. She was the definition of lovely, thought the mother, and she found herself walking across the house to find a good camera with film. Charles in his little tux and Raven seeming like nothing short of a blonde princess in the subtly frilled dress hemmed in lace and secretly-placed bows created a picture too cute to pass up. With their mother gone Raven looked to Charles with horribly obvious yellow eyes and sniffed, "Where did Erik go?"

"He's right here!" insisted Charles, not totally aware that Erik had disappeared completely from her sight. He imagined Erik would disappear gradually throughout the day or at least be given a ration of final words to ease the sudden change. Apparently that wasn't the case and Charles frowned when Raven continued to deny that Erik was standing between them. He could clearly see Erik reaching out to touch the tips of his fingers to her cheeks in order to take away the beginnings of tears but Charles saw the first of tears fall anyways, as if his friend had done nothing to stop it. Raven didn't like not being able to see Erik. Thankful Charles promised not to read her mind she secretly reminded herself that Erik was the only one – between the three of them – who could understand her.

Yes they were all mutants but Erik was a special mutant. He was a ghost but he couldn't hide like Charles could, being a telepath and all. Erik understood the hardship she faced trying to keep her blue form looking 'normal' since all he'd ever experienced was odd attention for his ability to manipulate metal. Charles and Erik wouldn't tell her much about this 'Shaw' character but even with the gaps Raven could understand that Erik had been isolated amongst all the other people, a feeling she often felt every day. Though she could make herself look like anyone in the world Raven was always afraid of someone finding out about the real her, and then abandoning her.

Now that she'd been rescued from the street she couldn't imagine going back to the elements that had shaped her. Three years paled in comparison to the true hunger she'd learned, the underhanded means of survival, and the nights she'd spent alone. Erik understood all of that. Charles did not. Losing Erik ripped deeply at her beating heart, causing Raven to feel a smidgen of regret.

She would always love Charles because he had found her, liked that she was mutant, and woven her into his family without so much as the blink of an eye but Erik…Erik understood beyond a level Charles could despite being a telepath. Losing Erik was like…like losing a father. A hint of a smile touched her face when she thought of the mean little comments Erik would make the schoolboys who couldn't hear them on her behalf or, even better, mock the 'piggy noses' and 'stork legs' of the girls who teased her. Charles always approached life peacefully but Erik did it amusingly. And honestly, which Raven respected.

The young girl decided she would approach life like that when she got older. It seemed very effective. "Erik says you're not pretty when you cry. And he says your eyes will be puffy for the dance if you keep crying. Says it's a shame you'd be crying anyways in that nice dress…" offered Charles in a small mutter as he continued to wring his hands. He wasn't exactly good with crying women – especially Raven since she seemed to be crying a lot for no reason lately along with her questionable mood swings. Raven wiped her eyes, trying to keep her emotions in check so her powers wouldn't flare, but found that increasingly harder to manage since she'd experienced her first period.

Apparently that would complicate things a bit. She hated being a woman, she really did. If she had to be a woman why did God have to make it worse by making her a mutant? "H-he did?" Raven inquired as she hiccupped and wiped her face. How was Charles still able to see him?

A pang of jealousy shot through her but it was quickly replaced with the pressing fatigue she'd come to experience one week out of every month since May. Charles nodded. The telepath had a charm all his own with the way his eyes would twinkle and the eloquence his accent suggested but because he'd spoken for Erik that made Raven feel a bit better. That was like hearing from both boys at once. It would be odd to see Charles represent Erik but just something suggesting she still had both of them made Raven feel not as startled as she once was.

No longer hysteric she could almost _feel _the oldest boy beside her. The sensation of heat – or was it cold? Her frazzled mind couldn't decide – made her arm hairs stand up. Erik sighed, slowly dropping his hand from her arm. Nothing more than a few raised hairs, he noted dismally, maybe a goose bump or two but it had happened just as his mother warned. Raven couldn't see him or hear him.

Something wilted in him, maybe the sense of understanding he had with Raven. Erik knew he would always be there for her but with her unable to see him now or hear him they could no longer have conversations concerning Charles abandoning them as he continued to explore social avenues. The only reason Charles didn't want to go to the dance was because of girls; his fear seemed to have returned with a vengeance. Or maybe it was because one had physically pushed another into the row of lockers just to talk to him as two behind her bickered like animals. The oldest boy would assume the latter since he'd been there when it happened and enjoyed Charles totally unprepared, terrified look of meek surprise.

The meek surprise had returned. Charles had corrected his tie for the third time and managed to glare when Raven teased him about his date. Erik felt small and alone. Both of his friends were going about their lives with little regard to the ghost that often kept them company, protected their secrets. And yet, as they continued to function as if they knew not of a ghost boy sharing their presence, they seemed so derailed.

It gave Erik a sliver of hope that he wouldn't be abandoned as quickly as he once feared. _We will always need you, my friend_, his blue eyes met those of Charles before the youngster tilted his head up and let Raven fix the mess he'd made of his tiny tie. _I will need you at least. You seem to be better at dealing with Raven than I. _Erik grinned slightly, finding truth to that statement. Despite the fact Charles could hide his mutanism he couldn't hide the fact that in some cases – such as Raven going through puberty – he was completely alone and unable to comprehend a means of going about the change peaceably. The young Xavier wasn't used to commanding a situation where peace wasn't an option so he more often than not fell into Erik for guidance; most of Raven's menstrual episodes had been nothing short of mood swings, screaming, crying, and utterances of pain.

All things Erik could deal with because of Shaw.

A bright flash of light exploded and Erik blinked his eyes rapidly, fighting off the spots. Apparently Mrs. Xavier thought Raven fixing Charles' tie was a scene too cute to pass up. "Alright now let's get one together because you two are just _so cute_!" Mrs. Xavier gushed behind the camera as Charles instinctively reached out for some part of Erik. He hated pictures, mostly because all of the pictures in the house represented nothing but lies. They were not a happy family though all the portraits smiled and his mother hardly ever put her hands on him unless they were in front of the same camera.

Charles hated lies.

"Put your hand down, Charles. Boys don't put their hands on their hips. And it's only one picture you don't have to look so grumpy." Charles looked to his arm bent into the shape of a triangle so his hand could rest on his hip. It wasn't resting on his hip; he'd taken to wrapping Erik's arm in his at the elbow so he would have something mentally, physically to hold onto when he went into the lion's den. Having contact with Erik during fear seemed to make it almost dreamy and irrelevant and it was certainly helping his anxiety in front of the camera. Though he could assume the 'grumpy' face was a knee-jerk reaction of his mother requesting to put his arm down. That meant letting go of Erik, something he wasn't good at doing.

He settled for mechanically lowering his arm until it was parallel to his side and only his fingers could pinch the cuff of the tux Erik wore. After the final flash Charles paused to study his friend in the aftermath of fading spot. Frankly he was surprised Erik was wearing anything other than the old, thin clothes he'd showed up in that first day. Charles took the fact he'd changed his attire with great respect and as a sign of endearment. At first he didn't know how to change his clothes or where to get clothes to fit a ghost but after his mother explained everything – a woman who Charles still couldn't see – they realized for Erik to change he simply had to _want _to.

That led to an interesting conversation as to why Erik hadn't changed his clothes since he arrived. Charles had smelled them on more than one occasion when he sought comfort but found they only smelled of Erik. Not intense cold, a musty, crowded sleeping room, or a weathered cot that once had several messy substances on as indicated by the spots. Just Erik. Admittedly Lehnsherr hadn't wanted to change because his too-big clothes reminded him of his promise to seek vengeance on Shaw any way he knew how.

The sallow white and dark brown clothes reminded him of hardship and his people. Few buttons on the top, no collar, puffy sleeves stained aplenty, and bottoms with botched stitching indicating an attempt at repair – he remembered every detail of his old clothes. Those clothes were years away from the finery of the _dear _doctor, that monster…his creator. Part of him didn't want to shed the old garments because it seemed when he wore them an invisible, impenetrable shield of hate was always on his person.

But Charles suggested one night, the night Erik almost killed Cain with the shovel, that maybe his hate was for more than Shaw. It had to be, Erik agreed. His hatred was for everything – the camps, the loss of his mother, and most importantly his inability to manipulate metal at the time, even now he struggled but only rarely. Charles convinced him that keeping – wearing – memoirs of his past would only impede his quest for bettering his powers and so, after much deliberation, Erik let the garments disappear. To stand here in this fine pressed tux of white and black like he was now felt very foreign but somehow…right…Erik liked how sharp and bright the white tux was and how it highlighted the black shirt underneath before it disappeared into the white pants.

It was different, agreeably, but nice. Polar opposite of what Charles wore, the younger boy choosing a black jacket to cover his white shirt and compliment the dark dress slacks. The tie was just an accent. Erik felt completely alien to even himself, and was surprised to know that from now on he'd have an infinite wardrobe only limited to his mind. And apparently Charles' as the day he was turned into a girl raced across his mind.

At the age of fifteen Erik was caught in an odd spot and completely alone on all sides. It wasn't all bad, he considered, because that feeling of being alone gave him time for his thoughts. Charles wouldn't _really _let him be alone anyways. Time for thinking was still good nonetheless, Erik thought. Alone with his own mind he could pretend to ignore the utter embarrassment and intrigue at being in a new set of clothes, a set of clothes that he would wear with pride.

Alone with his mind he could also pretend he didn't stare at Charles like a naughty puppy being locked out of the house for making a mess. Charles was growing up. And all he could do, in the meantime, was stand by like a spirit. _God _he wanted to be real _so bad_! A few more years was no torture, though, as he hadn't been 'real' in a while.

He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to taste things and be warm. Charles could feel him, yes, but even the telepath knew that it wasn't the same. Skin-to-skin contact with warm bodies was different than one warm body and one only partially touchable because of some cosmic fluke. "Are you ready to go?" Mrs. Xavier finally asked after passing off the camera to Venelda and setting an empty champagne flute on the counter. They nodded, and before they really left Mrs. Xavier gave Raven a touchup to excite her for the dance and make her feel like a 'real' young woman since she was thirteen.

_Are YOU ready? _Erik inquired as he looked to Charles and Charles looked to his shoes as if the shoe polish made them very interesting. The younger boy rocked back on his heels and clasped his hands behind his back, lips pursed in effort to remember Erik wasn't physically beside him and speaking like he was would make his mother question his sanity.

_I suppose_, answered Charles. _I mean, how bad can it be? It's a bunch of fourteen-year-olds. I don't think anybody will really be dancing._

_So you say_, pointed out Erik. Charles had a tendency to downplay social situations because he was a quiet boy. Or expect them to be very quiet, soft matters when they weren't. Erik was a ghost, not an idiot, and knew that boys and girls in the same room given any reason or excuse to be close would not be quiet. Images of couples struggling for desperate last kisses and boys and girls of all ages holding on to one another as Nazi's threatened to break their fingers emerged from a part of his brain he assumed had been locked away.

Fear was a powerful thing and curiosity was probably just as dangerous. Charles was but a year younger than him though no less curious than his classmates. Age was irrelevant when the curiosity of love came calling, and this dance was just a concentrated result of that curiosity. Erik assumed it was some innate thing – love - that would be faced sooner or later. He simply never would've imagined it was some innate thing pointing him to Charles.

He could fight that feeling all he wanted, knowing the world didn't think it was right and certainly wouldn't foster such a feeling, but it was hard to fight when Charles did small things like pinching the sleeve of his new tux to lead him to the car. Very hard, but Erik could tell himself it was so he didn't have to catch up because when he thought of Charles he tended to lose sense of ongoing events. Namely Charles moving towards a maelstrom of female hormones trapped in the Westchester Preparatory School auditorium. That he certainly couldn't afford to lose track of, not when Charles looked so nice in his tie and suit because those girls would positively maul him. Or he would.

_Mustn't think like that! _Erik snapped mentally as he tightened his fists. The idea of slapping himself crossed his mind but it was quickly forgotten when he shot forward through no fault of his own and was slapped by the back of the passenger seat. Charles stifled a giggle alongside Raven and Erik scowled, assuming that all of the little rich brats had wanted to bring their limos to the dance and inadvertently made traffic a worthy force of delay. He had a mind to lock Charles' seatbelt so he'd be the only one stuck once the two tried to get out but that would be mean.

It would make people pick on Charles if they saw the struggle and then Erik would have to retaliate. Then he wouldn't be tangible until he was in his mid-forties. That was not acceptable so the older boy decided to retaliate once they were inside. Once he thought of something, anyways. Raven squirmed desperately in her seat, able to see a sliver of the decorated auditorium through the open door and her eyes lit up at the colorful streamers pinned to different parts of the ceiling.

"Let's get out so the chauffer can go home," suggested Raven as she tugged at Charles' sleeve. They'd be the first two to willingly leave the limo before it arrived to the true drop off point. That meant they'd be sure to get in before a good portion of the other students. Charles preferred to wait, trying to weigh the odds of Margret McKinnon being inside or any of the other crazy females but ultimately shot out of the car after Raven gave the idea little consideration and left by herself. She would give him a heart attack far before his time, but luckily he had Erik to police her as he struggled to cope with the initial shock of her carelessness.

Inside the grandeur of the decorations far surpassed what Raven had first seen. The tendrils of black, silver, and gray tissue paper was far outplayed by the dangling pom-poms of glitter, murals taped up over the normally crème-peach walls, and the tiles of the floor carefully, temporarily repainted to create some bigger picture Charles couldn't see with all the people standing on it. Briefly distracted by the subtle glitter in the murals meant to convey a snowy midnight scene Charles wondered if the theme was winter for the colors or just glitter. There was plenty evidence supporting either idea. Raven disappeared almost instantly, her dress the perfect blend of black and whitish-gray for her to melt into the theme colors.

_I see her, it's fine. She's pretending to make a small plate to gossip. Silly little girl, _Erik's report eased the constriction of his throat and chest. Perfect timing for it, he noticed as he wondered who had grabbed him by the arm. Margret McKinnon smiled back at him, brown eyes crinkling and beauty mark seeming to rise as she smiled. Charles managed a semi-flimsy smile and tried his hardest to listen to her talk about who else was already in the auditorium. His eyes were constantly being drawn to a boy in white only he could see.

Erik's desire to always counteract Charles had left him quite easy to spot. His white tux acted like a strobe light in the sea of otherwise black formalwear. "—but I think we'll get either 'best dressed' or at least 'nicest people' because Sarah Finnely is _not _nice at all. I still can't believe she tried to ask you out."

"Mmmhm," uttered Charles as he winced under the beam of light reflecting off the multitude of pom-poms undoubtedly made of sheer glittery plastic or pieces of mirror…something incredibly shiny. There was more than one of those pesky light-making devices in the auditorium because the longer Charles looked to the crowd the more shafts of light became apparent. Some were circles, some were fractured beams, and some weren't anything at all but a glittery, blinding mass. Erik was no shiny pom-pom, wasn't covered in glitter, but Charles could see his face all the way across the room. He was still thin, not quite as thin as he had been, but thin because he was growing taller as the days passed.

How Erik kept growing Charles wasn't sure but he was sure his friend would top six foot one day. He didn't look happy – he looked grouchier than a bear woken up before its time – but his high cheekbones took the edge off his scowl. Gave him a hard-set type of handsome Charles recognized as his defensive exterior. Underneath Erik Lehnsherr was perhaps as approachable and calm as his eyes were blue. His eyes were very blue.

Charles looked at him enough to know that. Looked at him too much, he was beginning to think. "What do you think?" Margret inquired and Charles blinked. What in the world had she said? He only left a sliver of his mind open – for Erik – so he was largely closed off to the thoughts of the other students because he didn't particularly care for them.

They were all about status, snootiness, underhandedness, cruel and unusual humor, and testing the limits of their parents' instructions. Or so Charles could gather as some were bold enough to make out despite the fact this was a school dance. Honestly he hoped Raven was protected from their rude and animalistic displays. Stupid people with their stupid hormones. 'I _said_," Margret huffed, "what do you think of Yvonne's offer? The one I told you about at lunch?"

Amazingly he remembered that conversation. Yvonne Heppner was Sarah Finnely's underling and indirectly an enemy of Margret's. She was acting as something of a peace-maker, or trying to, Charles recalled. He thought the whole idea of cliques was rather silly as that further segregated people when people shouldn't be segregated – labeled – at all. It just further enforced the idea that if someone didn't fit in then they were different and if they didn't fit in they were looked at very nastily, talked about as they passed.

Things like that didn't sit well with Charles. It highly opposed his idea that people should come together and accept one another, and only after they'd done that could they accept people like him. He was beginning to think, however, that acceptance between normal people would be hard enough without attempting acceptance of mutants. Thoughts were never an easy thing to share or agree on, unfortunately. By the waiting, emphasizing twitch in Margret's eyebrow Charles could see she wanted him to agree with whatever silly revenge plan must be meant for her.

Unfortunately Margret had evolved into something nasty, probably courtesy of her older sister Vanessa. She used Sarah and her nastiness like a crutch to seek pity and justify her shallow comments. Comments Charles didn't really want to fabricate since it wouldn't really matter what he thought anyways - Sarah and Margret hated each other just for the sake of hating each other. For the sake of creating drama.

"Honestly I think you're consumed with a petty matter and are so insane for creating a scene that you'll go out of your way to do so." Once Charles looked at her, really looked at her, he could see her mind. It was cluttered with pre-planned comebacks for Sarah, possible implications Yvonne acting as a messenger and ways to knock the two down a peg. Charles hoped Raven's mind never got like that. Her glossy lips dropped open in a perfect 'oh' shape and she subsequently turned her powdered nose up, stomping off. Only a tiny bit of Charles felt guilty, the rest felt rather accomplished that he's spoken his mind and defended his beliefs.

The only guilty part stemmed from the fact he was alone in a sea of people who were together. Not everyone had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, necessarily, but people were in the auditorium with one another. Groups of giggling girls were evident and chattering away, much like the one Raven was in, and Charles realized he was alone. He had no clique to mesh into. Sure he'd made some friends but they were dancing with their 'boyfriends' or 'girlfriends' or more than likely being told by Margret McKinnon that he was some awful, horrible person.

She had easily and quickly made a half-circle around the auditorium and was talking to her fourth group of girls. Charles didn't even want to be here, anyways. The only reason he WAS here was to get away from his mother and honor the fact that it was Raven's birthday. It was what she wanted to do, after all. He was beginning to think he didn't make friends very easily because he didn't want them.

Honestly he was content with Raven, Erik, and Venelda. Secretly he didn't want people to eventually discover he was a mutant. Charles could just _see _with such clarity the mistake of trusting a normal person and admitting that he was a mutant after a 'friendship' had been made. It would be a disaster, imagined or not since words such as 'friendship', 'boyfriend', 'girlfriend', 'couple', and 'acquaintance' had little meaning in the school social system. Depending on the situation those words and more could have a strong meaning or none at all, and those words were too volatile and precious for Charles to trust.

So he pushed those words and the people who said them away. It was better that way. He wouldn't get her, Raven wouldn't get hurt, and he could protect her from the liars. Charles hated lies. In effort to fight them off, however, Charles had left himself alone mostly because his want for coexistence clashed with the reality of that happening.

Something in him finally relented that Erik may be right. Mutants and humans would never be able to safely coexist. He may not be totally right on every level but Erik was right. Though Charles would never say that, even when he got old enough to remember he'd thought such a thing. Embracing his telepathy with a smile Charles grinned at Erik who passed through several people to stand next to him. Raven would be well protected since she had a telepathic older brother; Erik decided he needn't stand guard because of that and something in him compelled him to visit Charles.

Perhaps it was the barley miffed look beginning to cover the wide-eyed realization of being alone. Or maybe it was just _Charles_. _I thought you were dancing with _Margret, teased Erik. Charles flashed him a pouty glare and his nose gave a tiny twitch. It was a twitch Erik had come to realize as some form of rebuttal being squashed.

_I was, _said Charles, _but she doesn't like my honesty. It's her fault, she asked what I thought._

_That's the trouble with people_, Erik explained, _they want people to agree with them but when those people get a voice of their own they're not loveable anymore. _He could elaborate using Shaw and himself as an example but thought better of it. That was bringing up something else entirely, anyways, and he didn't want to do that tonight. Not when it was Raven's night.

_Very insightful but according to that I'm not loveable, _mused the boy as his lips twitched in a smile. It was easy enough for Charles to remember he was having a mental conversation but remembering to hide the reactions was harder. The naturally gravelly texture of Erik's voice and the blatant honesty he was trying to liven with a sing-song like quality almost made him laugh. Judging by the fact Erik was trying to be funny without smiling Charles could assume he was bored to death. And of course he would be, thought Charles, because Erik doesn't like social events.

He couldn't dance, either. Charles and Raven had practiced for weeks before the dance and even danced just for fun when they felt like it. Erik always watched, never joined. Whether it was because he didn't know how or didn't want to Charles didn't know. Assumedly it had something to do with the camps because when Charles grazed his mind there was evidence of muffled emotion but no words to create a thought – something that indicated Erik was reminiscing.

Charles imagined memories of the camps, of that man, were very crippling. Those events had unfortunately shaped Erik into a very serious and quiet person. A person who wasn't concerned with dancing or having fun but of serious matters like protection and revenge. He wasn't entirely centered on revenge as he'd once been but Charles could tell it was in the back of his mind. Hopefully it would disappear as he got older…as they got older.

_You're dead but you don't have to be bored AND dead. Let's dance._ Offered Charles, extending his hand like a boy would to a girl. Like he'd been taught by Venelda, Kurt, and his mother. Erik's frown deepened. Not only was he NOT dancing because he didn't want to but he didn't want people to make fun of Charles. To the world Charles would be dancing with no one at all.

_The world doesn't matter, _Erik heard in his mind, _and I'm mildly offended you don't think I'm good enough to create an illusion. _Charles teased as Erik rolled his eyes and took the offered hand. He would be clumsy, he knew it, and was worried he was too tall for Charles anyways. At fifteen, with only a year between them, Erik could see well over Charles' head. Still left with a few years before he quit growing Charles could only hope he'd be able to do better than being eye-level with Erik's chest. In his defense Charles could simply say Erik was tall, which he was.

The world doesn't matter, Charles had said, and for some reason that made Erik's heart flutter oddly. That was endearing, actually. It had washed away the returning fear that Charles would forget about him as life took him elsewhere. If the world didn't matter then did that mean he did by default? Something had to matter because that was only logical and if something as large as the world didn't matter that meant something small had to mean a lot to Charles, and one person was quite small when compared to the whole world.

They danced slowly, Erik taking small, cautious steps. Charles, though significantly shorter, was leading well and talking Erik through the motions. Eventually they repeated the simple four-step dance spinning them in a circle so much that Erik didn't need to look at Charles anymore. Initially Charles had been training him to look at him instead of his feet because Erik was tripping. Now that Erik was looking, however, Charles was busted.

Erik Lehnsherr felt his nostrils flare at the audacity of Charles Xavier. No wonder why Charles insisted he looked at his face! The polished black dress shoes winked at him, reflecting the light above and Erik scowled at the utterly feminine pair of dress shoes Charles had put him in. They complimented the whitish-blue dress with the dark blue hem he saw billowing above. _Charles Francis Xavier‼_

_I think you look darling, _replied Charles honestly somewhere between the mental giggle and childish over exaggeration of the word 'darling'. He was having a good time with or without making Erik look like a girl. Despite the utterly pissed face he was receiving Charles was enjoying himself simply because Erik seemed to actually enjoy the simple four-step they were doing. Obviously fun was something that had been taken from him long ago, something that should've never been taken in the first place. Not when Erik looked so hypnotic with that smile on his face.

How could anyone have the heart to take it away?

Charles knew no one could take his away. His was a permanent smile of glee and deviousness. Anyone looking at them would see _Erika _but between the two of them only Erik thought he was a girl. It was the only way Charles could call the desire to dance with Erik Lehnsherr right in any way. Dancing with Erik Lehnsherr, and just Erik Lehnsherr, would take courage he didn't have. Not yet, anyways.

He never really worried about courage anyways because Erik had more than enough for both of them. Erik was the more forward and protective of the two of them so Charles didn't have to worry about matters like that. Matters like THIS ONE where courage would've been welcome. Swallowing once, licking his lips, Charles continued to step and spin them in the way he'd been taught. It took every ounce of concentration he had to keep them dancing properly because his mind was flustered with the idea of really telling Erik how he felt.

Having considered it multiple times Charles was always stopped cold by one possibility. It was the single question his telepathy couldn't answer, and just the _idea _of Erik saying no was enough to short circuit his telepath abilities. And his confidence. He would be utterly alone if Erik ever said no. Charles would have Erik as a friend any day if that meant keeping him over telling him the truth.

Even if it hurt.

Being friends meant staying together, staying close, and staving off loneliness. "Charles, there you are!" the two looked up to see Ms. Larrow, his art teacher. Erik remembered her very well as she had plenty of icy retorts in store for ne'er-do-wells like the ones that had tried to ruin that crude picture of him Charles made so long ago. "Sorry to interrupt," apologized the woman, causing Erik to think he could be seen, "but I have good news!"

"Is it about that test we took last week?" Erik rolled his eyes. Charles was desperate to please and succeed academically any opportunity he got. One such opportunity was a state-administered standardized test given last week. It would test the mental merit of all students at the refined schools. Probably set them up for some nice classes eventually going to a good career, thought Erik, as this school was for rich children who could afford to do well.

"Yes!" smiled Ms. Larrow. "You did _very _well," she added, "Your father was quite proud of you."

"Fantastic," smiled Charles. "Can I get the news from him then? I know it seems rude but a waltz is hard to remember in itself," laughed the young boy. Ms. Larrow cast a curious, almost amused gaze at the red-haired girl she saw and nodded. Erik knew Charles had no trouble at all remembering a waltz. He hid a blush as reality dawned on him that Charles had chased her away so they could be alone.

_He _was more important than a test result! Erik felt proud. In all honesty Charles was hoping sending Ms. Larrow away would bring back the hypnotism of dancing. Dancing had put him in an absent lull where he'd almost – kind of, sort of, maybe a little – kissing Erik Lehnsherr. Or _Erika _Lehnsherr to be more precise.

His heart pounded nervously as he waited for the lull to return. It wasn't, or it was taking forever now that he was paying attention to it. Waiting on it so desperately. Love was naturally elusive and Charles was naturally curious so why not try to capture the elusive thing by experimentation – experimentation with someone he trusted? "Charles? _Charles_!"

"Mmm?" Charles pursed his lips to stifle the natural '_what _Margret' that nearly followed. Usually only Margret used an impatient tone like that. The red hair was quickly shortening and turning a dark shade of brown, and the dress fading into a white suit. They were nose to nose and for the first time in a long time the telepath was left speechless. Thoughtless.

"Are you okay?" Erik had asked him. Charles didn't open his mouth, didn't touch his mind, but Erik could gather he'd hummed something of a reply from the moving chord in his neck. Sometimes Erik really worried about him. One minute he was fine and the next he was spacey as hell.

"Just wondering when this silly dance is over," stammered Charles. Once it was over he could go home and pretend he never tried to kiss Erik. Pretend he'd never thought about it a million times. Erik nodded in agreement. It would be WONDERFUL if this stupid gathering was over because then he could quit doing the same silly dance and wait for Charles to make conversation.

Wait for something to happen so he didn't have to feel awkward about dancing. Or staring at Charles. Or coming back after feeling like he'd been absolutely swallowed by those blue eyes. Ms. Larrow and a handful of other teachers Erik recognized were making chatty rounds to keep the dance clean once Erik managed to tear his eyes away and focus on something – anything – else. She was coming back to them.

"Charles—"

"Ms. Larrow I promise I'll ask about the test as soon as I go home." Charles smiled. Unlike the first time her face was tight. A bit pale, even under all of the glittering lights. Even without them.

"No, it's not about that. There's been a situation." She whispered in her best calm voice. Her efforts were failing and Charles could hear the anxiety in her voice that made her words flutter. He then took into account the fact that Raven was pressed wide-eyed into her side and gave the situation better thought. "Come outside with me," urged Ms. Larrow. Outside, surprisingly, Venelda was waiting on them.

"Venelda!" Raven immediately attached herself to the classic maid's uniform the woman wore around the house. "You smell like smoke," said Raven as she pulled her nose from the white apron. Charles approached Venelda. Her face was clean and as tan as it had always been but she smelled too clean…like citrus and pine. Like someone just recently washed.

"Thank you," Venelda looked to Ms. Larrow, "Come with me _niños._" Alarms began to ring in Charles' head when she didn't lead them to a limo. She was taking them to her personal car instead. The alarms sang louder when a man in an odd uniform with a badge clipped to his collar sat in the passenger seat.

"What's going on Venelda?" Raven asked, not liking the fact the man's I.D. had the phrase _medical health professional _on it. The man twisted around in the seat and eyed them. There was no way to break this gently.

"There's been a fire," began the man softly. "I was on-scene treating the occupants for smoke inhalation and burn," he held up the badge as evidence. Raven's eyes watered. She didn't want him to finish. They'd lost someone, hadn't they?

Or the house, didn't they? Why was her luck so bad? Every time she found something nice she had to give it away for money when she was on the streets. Now she didn't have to give anything away or worry about money and a cold feeling of loss settled in her stomach. "We rescued most of the help and the fire's been put out but both of your parents were taken to the hospital for severe smoke inhalation and in your mother's case second-degree burns."

"We'll stay in a hotel tonight," Venelda said, "and we'll go see them in the morning." Charles wanted to ask how it happened but guilt and disappointment radiated strongly from both adults. Venelda more or less had guilt for obeying her orders and walking away, and he could assume it was how she'd been saved. The health care professional had disappointment for the welfare of a wealthy family in such a situation. From what Charles could gather investigating Venelda's mind a fight between Kurt and Sharon had finally escalated. It was no secret his mother liked to get drunk, or that she was an angry drunk if and when she moved while intoxicated.

Charles just never imagined drunk people would forget alcohol and candles were a bad combination. Through the eyes of the health professional – a man named David – he could see the open windows of the house. The neon orange and red of the flames…their strength and height. He could only imagine the fire had spread quickly because of the wind. It crossed his mind, also, that Kurt hadn't been in the same room as Sharon or would've been able to put out the fire and instead got hurt trying to get her out of the house.

As flashes of chaos, fear, smoke, and heat assaulted him Charles shuddered. He could really smell the smoke and could feel the flames. That was terrible in itself but even more terrible was the pressing sense that it would only get worse. The pressing sense that said even though Venelda had survived and the house had been saved something bad was still sure to happen. Despite the fact he was a telepath Charles had a feeling he knew what that impending 'something bad' was.

How could he survive without his parents? He would inherit the money, of course, and rebuild the house and take care of Raven. Keep the help…but still, what fourteen-year-old was ready to live without their parents? None! _You're not alone, even if they go_…he felt Erik squeeze his hand and Charles sucked in a breath.

Erik had been in his mind somewhere as he panicked but to feel him – feel that confident, worried squeeze on his hand – was another thing entirely. Maybe something that saved him. Charles felt very dizzy, very small, very cold and just not himself at all. Very scared, almost lost. Erik and Raven could bring him back though, Venelda's Spanish lullabies were doing nothing to ease him but as he held Raven and Erik he knew he was not alone.

Never alone.

Some three hours later when Venelda had finally drifted off to sleep in the hotel room they'd rented for the night Charles found himself staring at the ceiling. Because of the condition of the house he and Raven didn't have pajamas to change into – they weren't in the mood for sleeping, anyways. She was awake and pressed under his arm. Her little heart beat against his side and she sniffed, wiping at the dark streaks of eyeliner that marred her face. "Are we going to be alone, Charles?"

"I don't know," he uttered. Charles prayed she didn't ask him to really find out. He didn't want to answer her.

"Yes you do," she glared at him, flashing yellow eyes. "Tell me." But if he did it would break her heart. Raven was still learning that she had a stable home…that she wouldn't go back on the streets. He didn't want to give her reason to fear.

"I – we will never be alone."

"Don't give me a big, weird answer. Give me a simple one. A _true _one."

_What do I say, Erik?_

Erik had a feeling Charles knew before they even got to the hotel, and he was right.

_Let her see me. I can handle this._

Charles always thought Erik was a good speaker, anyways. He had a way about him that caught the attention of those in his vicinity. It was the power his eyes leaked, the way he could set his face so determinedly and yet have it speak more of honesty than harshness. Raven jumped in surprise, the sight of Erik lighting a smile on her face. "You are never alone, bluebird," promised the older boy.

"If we lose mom and dad we will be," pointed out the young girl. Erik shook his head again as if to tisk at her simple thought.

"No, bluebird. You are only alone if you think you are. People are with you if you remember them and you love them. It took me a long time to learn that."

"Did you lose people, Erik?" Charles had done everything in his power to avoid the Holocaust with her. Luckily at the time the school first approached the subject she'd been in the age group deemed too young to learn about such a tragedy. Erik nodded.

"I lost my mother but she's not gone. I remember her, and I know she loved me. Cared for me, so she will never be gone from me."

"Tell me about your mother, Erik." Raven asked. Charles wasn't sure Erik would do it. Though his mother was a ghost and Erik could see her when he wished given his state the subject was still painful. The fact that Erik began to tell stories about her, stories of his childhood, reconfirmed the idea that Erik was far stronger than Charles could ever be. It took a truly strong man to take the past and speak of it with a smile when the times weren't all good.

"And so you see we are never really alone. We have memories…" Raven had climbed in his lap around the third story and Charles lay there in the darkness, listening to all the stories Erik could think of. The plan had worked and Raven fell asleep without a thousand questions and muffled anxiety. Erik sighed, covering the two as he sat at the foot of the bed, knowing that when the Xaviers went home it would be to a partially burnt house void of parents and undoubtedly emptier when some employees chose not to come back for work. He wondered if that emptiness would change Charles. He wondered if he was ready for that change.

More than just the idea of a burnt house and no parents would test their ability to adapt. What Charles had only confided in Erik was the fact that his standardized test proved he could take on college earlier than most. Erik realized he might have to deal with Charles going to college on top of keeping Raven sane in the face of losing her first real family. At the foot of a bed only meant for one, stuck in a room with three other people, Erik felt entirely alone in the face of such a large task.


	8. Denial 101

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p><strong>Dreamwalker-Bibliophile <strong>(welcome new blood!), **Kyrene once Bloody Roses**,** mildetryth**, **Darkyu**, and **4everYoung93 **reviewed the last chapter. Okay, so I lied. This will be the last real chapter before the two endings. I just got done with my Human A&P I final and I'm totally exhausted. Still have two more finals to go before the week is over.

31 people have this story on their favorites list and 54 have it on their alert list. I'm holding the next chapter hostage until I get** ten** reviews on this chapter. It's mainly for fun but I want to see – between the favorites and the alerts – how many are willing to review. Don't worry, I'll make this chapter worth the negotiation (haha!).

I have a couple of crackfics I might do. Did a character expansion on Necro and will soon be doing one on Sparkle. Will be doing an alternate universe crackfic concerning most of First Class called _That's Not in the Blueprints_. Feel free to sumbmit alternate universe scenarios or questions to be answered in a oneshot style.

**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter Eight: Denial 101<p>

Erik folded his arms, glaring down at the undignified heap that was Charles Xavier stuffed into a solitary wooden chair before a writing desk and scowled. He'd been staring at the unconscious youth for about twenty minutes without so much as a twitch for a reward. As a ghost there was only so much he could do when forced to follow Charles' demands that he stay with Raven since she was the youngest. Both of them needed protection, Charles more so as he'd been inclined to heavy drinking after his parents passed away. Here Erik was conflicted; did he project his scolding thoughts or let the obviously mourning man sleep in blissful ignorance owed to the alcohol accompanying his somehow finished paper?

Bard College could hardly distract from the fact that Xavier manor had caught fire some two years ago and the Xavier parents died three horrible days after due to smoke inhalation and severe burns. It was, however, keeping Erik busy. Trying to stop a budding teenage woman beginning to consider exploring her sexuality at the age of sixteen was enough to keep Erik busy without his lifespan being shortened by the idea of a drunken Charles. He could at least admire Charles' explicit demands that he and Raven be given a room away from everyone else since she was younger than most attending the college – as was he – and Charles questioned their behavior. From what Erik understood the mind of college folk was nothing short of pure smut mostly written by the lethal amounts of ingested alcohol.

And the lifestyle was beginning to have its way with Charles. Charles Xavier was many things: a genius, loaded with money, talkative, and charming but none of that seemed to help his inability to hold alcohol. His drinking escapades with the older boys were becoming more frequent and causing Erik to have more sleepless nights. Raven couldn't see him but believed now more than ever he was still around as she was semi-frightened by Charles' bold new habits and had nowhere else to turn to. Like Erik she knew Charles felt bad about losing Sharon and Kurt but this was not the way she'd expect her smartest, oldest, nicest, only real brother to deal with such trauma.

Not only was it disappointing but it was mildly depressing. Erik watched her pass by Charles' desk, shake her head, and drape his previously discarded coat over him. She looked at Erik, seeming to sense by the temperature difference that he was around Charles, and gave a nod before going to make herself breakfast. Raven watched in mild amusement as a rag wet itself and walked towards Charles Xavier's lipstick-stained face. The telepath gave a guttural groan at the wet and abrasive texture on his cheek but Erik ignored that and continued to subdue his ungodly curls in order to erase the vibrant mark.

It was a mockery, really, that lipstick. Teasing Erik. Reminding him of the things he dare not admit and just all-out irritating him with the fact that someone else had put their mouth to Charles Xavier. Someone that wasn't him. "Whassat?" instinctually Charles Xavier darted away and Erik scowled, rolling the telepath's head back far enough for his unfocused eyes to see it was him as the first of several lipstick marks were washed away.

Charles then giggled, perhaps at his own stupidity, and let Erik continue cleaning him. While he was being cleaned Charles could try and put the pieces of his memory back together. And say something utterly crude and hilarious because he liked it when Erik got flustered. He seemed so uptight since they rebuilt the manor – and Charles could only assume it was to combat HIS natural reflex of ignoring it while trying to make life as enjoyable as possible for Raven – as if the fact he hardly ever smiled now wasn't evidence enough. His heart ached for that terrible night because even though it changed the course of their lives for perhaps the rest of their lives it had one good moment.

The dance.

It was the first and only dance he'd probably ever have with Erik Lehnsherr. They hadn't spoken much of it since that day, probably because complications concerning the will and _life _in general had gotten in the way. "Do you like bathing me, Erik?" teased Charles in the gravelly, almost painful tone indicating his horrible hangover. He grinned and gave a two-note hum at the way Erik's nostrils flared before the metal bender cleaned the other side of his face and supported his ungodly aching head long enough to drag it to the side and assault a once-hidden kiss mark. Since the first drinking escapade Charles learned that for the duration of his inebriation he could break into people's minds a lot quicker than he could when he was sober.

He credited it to the alcohol dimming his personal issues with using his power in such an unrestrained way. Not fully recovered from the massive amounts of ale – among other things – he'd consumed the night before Charles could see Raven's mind as she lingered in the kitchen and feel Erik's as the older boy slapped him somewhat playfully with the rag to let him know he was done cleaning. "You have a class in half an hour. Best eat something," warned Erik. Charles withdrew from Raven's mildly disappointed mind and looked to Erik's, hoping his face didn't display the hurt he'd felt at such a general comment. Wasn't he the least bit worried about what he'd been doing last night?

Erik's mind had once been a maelstrom but was now relatively calm. In the passage of time his demons concerning Shaw had been as mediated as they could be, similar to Charles' own demons that spawned from Cain. From everything, really. Erik was his solid foundation – unbending and resilient like the metal he could control. Looking into Erik's mind required no deliberation, no fighting, and because of that Charles was gifted a smooth path containing very few thoughts.

His mind had once been beautiful and active though normally glistening with an overwhelming negativity geared at others or situations more so than himself but now it was so quiet. Charles withdrew. Something had changed in Erik. Those blue eyes were still roaring pools of blue with flecks of gray but they looked at him as if he was the ghost instead of the other way around. He looked to him in…disappointment, almost.

The thoughts that Charles wanted to reek of concern, of him, had only been full of silly things like keeping an eye on several boys determined to at least say 'hello' to Raven. Several boys who were Charles' drinking buddies because he flawlessly surpassed them in academics and occasionally used his telepathy to fish for answers to fill their papers. Was he not worthy enough to even think of any more since being considered intelligent enough to attend college? At seventeen he was a mere one year away from his degree and easily saw himself at Oxford within the next two years. If anything he was overqualified in consideration for a thought…but why did it bother him that Erik wasn't thinking of him?

His mind was beginning to clear shortly after the vague wish for the ability to rearrange his brain chemistry crossed his mind. Raven handed him a grilled cheese – her own breakfast of choice – and Charles exhaled a dismal sigh as a glass of orange juice followed it. When he left Erik would probably escort her for a walk around the campus or give in to whatever whims his severely socially-suffocated sister had. It was the only fair way to make Raven feel as if she wasn't totally alone with this being Charles' adventure into the college life, but the telepath couldn't help feel slightly jealous of Raven. She got Erik to herself all day and what did he get?

In the event he didn't go drinking there wasn't much said between them. Their conversations had waned substantially since the fire and the idea of Erik ignoring him was as infuriating as it was disappointing. Charles was beginning to consider Erik's gradual distance was the reason he drank so much. Perfectly sober he could neither figure out nor bear the knowledge he'd been left out in the cold by the older boy. He realized women called for him more than his drinking buddies and that may send the wrong message but that was also Erik's fault.

That night they danced only Erik had thought he was a girl. Charles had danced with Erik Lehnsherr the boy. Albeit not the whole time he'd still done it. Because he'd gotten no fantastic response of confirmation – to be fair Ms. Larrow did ruin it when he tried to go in for a kiss – Charles resorted to women. He figured Erik didn't want him.

Charles was hoping at least _one _of the girls here at the college could make him feel half as good as Erik did when he smiled. Or when he laughed. He wanted the high-flying feeling to come from smelling a girl's fancy perfume so it would feel more natural than it did coming from brief inhales of Erik's shirt when Charles made his way over to him during the night. Only under large amounts of alcohol could he even pretend a girl gave him the heated, gut-twisting feeling Erik inspired in just a simple look. The look he was getting now – nothing short of a disappointed glare mixed with a bit of something he couldn't read – wasn't founding exactly that but _verdammt _even when Erik wasn't happy with him Charles was excited by the sight of him.

"You shouldn't be wasting time looking at me when you've got half a sandwich left and juice to be drank." pointed out Erik as he folded his arms across the dark material in the chest of the turtleneck he'd gotten used to. He remembered Charles commenting on how 'smart' they looked and how commanding personalities throughout history seemed to wear something private and close to the neck. Erik then adopted the fashion because it suited his personality the more he thought about it – though originally it had been an impulse – but Charles liking it may have been a deciding factor. More or less the stately turtleneck was a representative summation of things he could not show, things he wanted to show. Since their childhood Erik didn't really have the heart to be even teasingly firm with the telepath and wished he could call back that ability to be commanding because maybe then he'd finally be able to beat himself and tell Charles Xavier that he liked him.

No, more than liked him. 'Liking' someone was childish and not meant for such a level of connection that he and Charles had. They'd been together in the beginning and Erik wanted them to be together when his sentence was lifted. Though the idea of 'together' had radically evolved – if only within his mind and personal feelings – since their childhood and Erik wasn't sure if that could be done. 'Liking' had been the day of the dance but this affliction – constant worry, countless hours of lost sleep waiting for him to return safely home, scooting close to him during the night to make sure he breathed safely – signified something more.

Something damn near inescapable. But if Charles was the reward he didn't want to escape. He wanted more than anything to obey his own desire but Erik was utterly terrified of what Charles might think of him if he knew. That fear – something far beyond his fear of Shaw – drove him to tirelessly reconstruct his mind, locking away anything of Charles. It was hard work staying vague and Erik never realized how much he thought about the young man until Charles invaded his mind moments ago to coast on a nearly empty sea of consciousness.

Damn him.

Most nights when Erik couldn't sleep he'd readjust the little desk clock in accordance to Charles' classes. He didn't have the same ones every day and he didn't have to obey consistent hours. It was no surprise to any of the three in small college dorm that his desk clock was now going off fifteen minutes before the class started. Charles sighed and brushed the crumbs from his mouth with a napkin – vestiges of his hangover remaining since he hadn't perfected contorting his own brain chemistry – before he changed clothes, brushed his teeth, and snatched his paper off the desk. Time was slipping away and he was risking making it even slightly early to class by the time he'd picked out something to wear and told Raven goodbye with a kiss dropped to her head but Charles Xavier made it out the door nonetheless.

Raven then looked to the general direction of Erik – according to Charles he stayed between the desk and his bed, hardly anywhere else – before grinning slightly. Even if she couldn't see him Raven could tell by the lame, almost timid way Charles would smile on his more sober nights that Erik meant very much to him. She knew that something was there – could be there – even if they didn't admit to it because they were stupid men. Who cared what society thought? Right now Erik was a ghost so it wouldn't even matter and it wouldn't anyways because Charles was a telepath. He could tell the whole world what to think!

She bet he was worried for Charles because she was herself. He'd taken on some dangerous habits and somehow managed to stay brilliant despite it all. Raven had been hurt at the loss of Sharon and Kurt, yes, but she imagined Charles to hurt much more because those had been his parents before they were ever hers. They were not perfect but they had still been his. "Let's go window shopping, Erik!" half of the time she never bought anything but looking – and getting out of the dorm room – was just as nice.

It was Friday so she could window shop until noon and meet Charles for lunch afterwards. He only had one class on Friday and getting up with him at the _oh so nice _hour of half-past eight she had an ample start against most shoppers. If anyone shopped on Fridays, most didn't until they got off from work when their paychecks were in their hands. Either way she had an advantage and would drag Erik with her just to save Charles the heart attack. Though her shopping was a source of good fortune; without shopping she wouldn't have found the turtle neck Charles commented on in admiration enough to get Erik to change his attire.

Raven had only heard about it the next morning when Charles mused how much of an influence she was on him. She distinctly remembered Charles snuffing any other comments to seal his lips around a porcelain coffee mug and only assumed Erik had walked into the room. Still, the wayward, dreamy quality of his smile spoke volumes. It was her red flag. Charles loved Erik and she was the only one that really knew – they were still dancing around one another like they would be ripped apart by some other-worldly force the minute they admitted anything.

Against the August air she felt a cold spot that could only be Erik and left the doorstep shortly after, making sure their dorm was safely locked before sauntering towards the shops. Charles liked Bard College because it was in New York and would ultimately propel him towards Oxford but _she _liked it because the shops were familiar even if it took a bit of a drive to get there. At sixteen – and due to somewhat falsified papers and a powerful telepathic brother – Raven had a driver's license to ease her boredom. Erik hated riding with Raven; sure she got them from point A to point B but she had hellacious road rage and tended to drive hastily. He would drive if he'd never only watched Charles and Raven do it, aside from the fact that a car driving itself was not the norm.

Bard College was ninety miles from New York. Erik had to survive ninety miles then he could turn everything else in his mind off as they browsed the windows. _Good lord Charles help me!_ Contrary to the years when Charles went to Westchester Preparatory School distance was nothing for Charles Xavier. He laughed at Erik the entire ninety miles. Charles also received an extensive lesson in German swearing as a result of his inability to leave his friend's mind during travel.

If he left Erik alone he was worried what condition the car would be in when Raven parked. It wasn't the only reason Charles was in his mind. Philosophy was very boring, his paper was done ahead of the class schedule, and he was snooping as much as he hated it. Snooping was like a bad itch that had only recently reared its head. The idea of Erik being this mentally vague was just unheard of and Charles knew him far too well to leave it alone.

He was hiding something. Charles had learned to be discreet in his mental probing and briefly regarded Erik's mental comments on some of the things Raven passed by – _too small for you. Charles would kill you for having it. Who would EVER wear that? It looks like road kill sewn together… _- as he continued to investigate. Something slammed into him causing Charles to give an audible gasp. The sensation was strong and cold, far stronger than anything that had ever come from Erik excluding the sheer bloodlust he'd felt the day Cain buried him alive. It caused him to feel warm, fluttery, and like he was struggling for air.

The professor thought he'd gotten too excited about the reiterations of Aristotle but that was not the case. Charles had excused himself because he realized what that emotion was. He'd only ever felt it himself for Erik about a million times. At first he couldn't imagine why Erik had built literally hundreds of doors and locks to distance the memories of their childhood from anyone else who would steal into his mind – who else would? – but then he realized the door was not only a barrier but a representation. Initially he assumed the memories were so severely guarded because of the content but Charles was only partially correct; those memories were guarded because of the undertones they possessed.

Undertones he hadn't even been aware of when those memories were being made. Even then, in their younger years, he and Erik had been close. Closer than normal boys should be. Charles was unable to enter the door or see those memories – memories he remembered with superb clarity – because they embarrassed Erik. Made him feel vulnerable, exposed the fact that he still felt like any human being would.

He was the hiding the fact that he was in love. Charles pressed his warm forehead against the sun-warmed bar of the railing outside the classroom. Erik was in love…with him! Sure Charles was connecting the dots and being presumptuous but how could he possibly love Raven like anything other than a sister? That's all Erik used to regard her as and the only other person in those memories was…was him.

That was perhaps the best secret he'd ever uncovered. It rivaled all the presents he'd ever discovered with his gifts and all the tests he knew he passed. But, Charles realized as he was ready to reenter the classroom like he'd had the best day ever, he could never tell Erik. Not sober, he was far too self-conscious. And if he was drunk he'd have a better time not remembering he'd asked – declared – such a thing to his friend in case Erik experienced a moment of panic and denied everything.

After the lecture he connected to Erik's mind again. Raven was almost back to the college. The telepath laid out his plan for the rest of the day shortly after safely disconnecting from her mind as she pulled into the parking lot. He was going to eat lunch with them, go to a 'study session' with Michael and the others, and come home absolutely pissed to finally clear the air with Erik. Charles mused as he inadvertently related denial to the paper he'd just submitted in the class.

A paper, like denial, lingers until the date of confrontation. In between the day the paper is announced and the day it is due multiple things can come between the paper and the writer but the paper is always there, finished or not. Excuses can be made in order to disregard the paper but excuses or not the paper is there, waiting to be dealt with. When the deadline comes the paper must be handed in, finished or not. Or frantically mulled over until some result is produced.

Denial was like a paper. One Charles Xavier had yet to write off successfully. Tonight that would be amended. It was funny how he learned things other than the intended class curriculum but Charles found the notion very true and very fitting. The desire in him mounted to share the laugh with Raven but Charles had a feeling she wouldn't really care.

Raven just didn't think like that though that didn't mean she didn't care for him. She wouldn't find the irony in it, he corrected himself. Erik would because they were the only two still floating about like the ideas meant to finish an unwritten paper but he wouldn't say such a thing to Erik. He might catch on and Charles simply couldn't handle possible accusations or revelations sober, not if they had the chance to end badly and things often had two ways of happening: nicely and horribly. _CHARLES SAVE ME! SHE DRIVES LIKE A MANIAC! _Raven caught him by the arm and Erik fell into his right side – away from Raven – as she suggest the little café just outside the campus.

They could be in denial all they wanted but what was written remained even after attempts to erase it. The words simply fade but they never disappear. He could write over his feelings for Erik all he liked – with women and booze like different pens and ink – but what he'd felt initially would render those newfound words and behaviors irrelevant because the truth was hiding behind it all. Imperfections always irked Charles Xavier and if his life – his feelings for Erik Lehnsherr – was a paper those attempts to erase his feelings for the boy would mar the lines of the paper so he'd ball it up and start anew with the truth. It would never go down on paper but he could correct his mistakes tonight and quit tossing aside his feelings like botched college papers landing in the wastebasket.

Charles tried to enjoy lunch, he really did. All he could think about was _tonight _being _the _night. Honestly he couldn't believe he'd convinced himself to go even _this far _with the idea. It could change everything! But what he'd seen had made him want to change everything. He was a quiet, delicate, social creature that needed to be attended to in ways only Erik Lehnsherr had perfected. Or would be perfect in; Charles knew he had no experience in romancing given his condition but _god _just the sight of him led Charles to fantasies about how wonderful he would be.

With that outwardly coarse – perfectly silent, cool, chiseled – exterior of lightly tanned skin, high cheekbones, and smile filled with so many beautiful, prominent teeth how could he not be the polar opposite on the inside? Wasn't that how it worked in all those silly little novels and the grand scheme of irony? Erik had spent so much time with Charles that the telepath knew he had a capacity for kindness and would treat him well. Those eyes could be cold as the steel he manipulated but his hands were soft despite the calluses. Then it dawned on Charles that he might be projecting and the telepath flushed, taking a large sip of Earl Gray so they wouldn't think he was a statue.

_Are you alright, Charles?_

_Yes of course, Erik. Just trying to organize myself. Don't want to get my classes confused._

_Or perhaps you're trying to reassemble yourself since your latest booze party, _teased Lehnsherr. Maybe it was because they were outside or because Charles was actually coherent but the atmosphere seemed lighter than it had in the past months. He debated that the levity was due to finally accepting his own emotions and deciding to handle them but whatever it was it certainly made the day nicer. Erik even seemed to smile. Or maybe he was just smiling because he'd given a disguised insult.

Either way Charles got a lovely view.

_Nonsense, _replied Charles as he sipped his tea. Erik laughed. To kill time and ease the incessant need to check the time Charles let Raven drive them out to New York again. When he was with her Erik felt safer – Charles could mentally relax her and restrain certain driving impulses. Because Charles was there they also browsed stores for men so Erik wouldn't be forced to look at killer heels and how many designs a pencil skirt could have, or the multiple styles of a jacket and scarf.

Despite the extensive walking and girlish oozing over things Charles wouldn't dare let her wear – much too short or much too small for her developing form – he had to admit the walking was working. Raven alone had a tendency to walk for hours on end, honing some secret reserve of leg muscle strength Charles didn't have. The telepath had already formulated a worthy excuse to get himself drunk when they returned. Given the fact Raven's trips averaged at least an hour or two he could say he needed to check up on the others, go get smashed, and come home. It was all utterly brilliant.

She bought a hat and a sundress before Charles was able to coax her back into the car. He drove back to the college simply because he wanted to and ignored Raven's comments about his 'elderly driving' along the way. His style of driving – one that obeyed any and all vehicular laws – wasted twenty more minutes compared to Raven's tendency of rushing. Raven willingly bolted from the parking space and all but strolled to their dorm room to make new outfits with her hat and summer dress. Noon had faded hours ago and the sky above was quickly being replaced by the powdery bluish-purple indicative of the late evening.

Even now when Charles locked the car and made his way back to the dorm – Raven still in his sights – the lamps around campus were lighting up to ward off the nighttime. He took note of his aching calves and assumed they had stayed out longer than anticipated. Charles had a feeling he'd been suckered in to longer than he'd liked but when he had Erik to distract him distance and pain were things that fell by the wayside. When he finally set himself down at the writing desk and looked at the clock it failed to surprise him that it was coming upon seven at night. It was far too early to start drinking now but for the meantime he could rest his legs and try to steel himself for what would happen tonight.

Yes he said he'd get drunk but Charles would get tipsy, he liked to think. That special kind of drunk where his speech was slurred and his eyes glistened but he was still coherent. Then he'd be that perfect blend of blissfully unaware and perfectly understanding. _And this is where being a ghost has its perks, _Erik mused from across the room, settled at the foot of his bed like the night they were all stuffed in that hotel. Charles snorted.

He didn't like to talk to Erik mentally all the time, especially now since Raven wasn't able to interact with him as much. Talking to him gave her a partial feeling of inclusion. "So you say," replied Charles, "but you have one more year and you'll be complaining as much as me when she gets the urge to shop."

"And then I can dress him up!" Raven cackled gleefully instead of taking the rueful groan of Charles Xavier removing his shoes as an insult. Charles grinned. Seeing Erik in an array of hats and obnoxious scarves would be rather amusing. "Or you can turn him into a girl and we can go scouting for boys! He'd be a safe escort since he's a guy and a good judge of character since, again, he's a guy. Wing-lady Erika!" Erik scowled at her, unseen. That was a torture Charles would easily exchange for a shopping walk.

_I'd wish you'd never started that stupid Erika thing._

"Come now, Erik, you look lovely as Erika. Don't you think Raven?"

"A lot better than that stuff scraped off the bar floor you bring home every night."

_HAH! _Erik hoped he didn't project that but he certainly agreed. Those women were beneath Charles Xavier.

"Now, now, don't be so rude!" Charles leaned back into the chair, releasing a pleasant sigh of unburdened feet as Raven strutted into the room in her natural form. She wore the sundress purchased earlier with a small hair bow she'd saved from her childhood and morphed quickly into three of the last seven women Charles had dated. To the humiliation of Charles Xavier she remembered the pick-up lines he'd used on them to get them into bed. His face reddened as he realized he'd have to find some non-dorm spot to take any future time-wasters. Though he was hoping he wouldn't need those distractions anymore after tonight.

Truthfully the only reason he'd been able to finish any of those times was because the girls were ridiculously drunk and he'd imagined them as a redhead with blue eyes and pasty skin. Erik grinned and tried to hide that wide, obvious smile full of sharp teeth – to no avail – behind his hand as he brushed his fingers along his nose. He spent almost an hour relaxing before deciding to visit the other men. His alleged 'friends' and Raven pouted at him as he went to shut the door. They were all enjoying the laughs, the quiet and the calm, because it simply hadn't happened in a while but this was the one time Charles Xavier _really _needed to get drunk.

"I'll be back early," he said before shutting the door. Raven only barely heard "I promise!" before the sound of his footsteps totally faded away from the door. Though she couldn't see Erik sitting on the bed she bet he sighed, too. Because he hadn't said he'd be coming back alone Raven took refuge in her room just in case. It was bad enough she had to hear an obnoxiously giggly, extremely drunken older woman every night because she was forced to stay in the same dorm as her older brother but she could use the time Charles spent drinking to hopefully fall asleep before he got home.

Raven shut her door and Erik was left alone. _Charles said he'd be home early, _thought the metal-bender after an hour passed, _so he should be home soon_. When Charles Xavier could stay out into the wee hours of the morning Erik was beginning to question what he considered 'early'. He tried to soothe his worry by imagining Charles had gotten caught up in some deep, intelligent, philosophical conversation – because that would be so like Charles – after another hour passed but then he remembered who he called 'friends'. Then Erik knew that could not be the case.

Last call was between two and three A.M. depending on what bar he went to and it was already going on ten at night. Had Charles gone back to a girl's dorm this time? Or off campus? At ten forty-five a knock echoed off the door and Erik's heart leapt into his throat. _Please be Charles, please be Charles, please be Charles! _because what if it wasn't and someone had dropped by to relay terrible news of an accident?

Erik didn't like the idea of losing people, much less Charles. Before he could wake the deep-sleeping Raven to answer the door – a door opening on its own would scare whoever had escorted Charles home, if anyone – it opened by itself. He hadn't done it and could only assume Charles was safe – drunk – on the other side of the door and opening it with his mind. His heart eased back into place at the positively un-hate-able sight of a mussed Charles reeking of alcohol. Charles' tie had come undone and was in danger of falling off but it managed to cover the improperly-buttoned undershirt that met his jeans.

"Ah, Erik. Hello, my friend." Speaking alone seemed to challenge his balance and the Englishman stumbled inside as Erik shut the door. No one was nearby outside, anyways. Charles laughed at himself as his foot skipped across the floor and Erik caught him, putting an arm around his neck to keep Charles from hurting himself. Believe it or not the younger man was quiet the challenge to lift in his inebriated state. Erik maneuvered him to the bed and set him down easily – he was afraid of spewing if he was too rough – before waving a finger before his eyes to see how off kilter Charles was.

Charles found the finger, blinked at it, followed it until his attention deemed it unworthy, and waved a finger back in Erik's face. "You do too much of this," slurred Charles as he wagged the finger again. "Too much lecture," elaborated the younger man. "You need to do more of this!" he stood – half-fell, swayed unhealthily, every other bad descriptor Erik could think of – and fell into Erik so he could smash the cheeks of his face together in something resembling a smile. He didn't know whether to push Charles away from him or break his drunken stupor by pointing out how much he smelled of alcohol.

At the moment he was caught up in the fact Charles was very close to him, grabbing his face, and grinning like a red-faced child. Though a child would never be this drunk. "You lay down before you fall down," demanded Erik as he took Charles' hands – warm, soft, delicate, wonderful – off his face and sat him on the bed. A bold, glassy half-glare went his way and Erik folded his arms over his chest, arching his dark brown eyebrows. Charles giggled.

"Were you worried about me, my friend? You don't look to pleased…"

"You said you'd be home early and you weren't."

"The clock just hit eleven. I am three hours early."

"Not as early as I would've liked."

"We don't always get what we like," replied Charles. The statement came out rather flatly but Erik could tell by the way Charles arched his eyebrows and corrected his slouched torso that he was fixing to expound on that statement. He knew Charles and his motions, his movements, like the back of his hand. Snuggling up to the headboard – because he liked proper support to keep a proper posture when he talked for long periods of time, Erik knew – Charles hiccupped and tried to focus his eyes on the other side of the room. It was coming, thought the mildly intoxicated telepath, and he had to look at something other than Erik or he wasn't going to be able to do it.

"I don't have everything I would like." Said Charles. This amused Erik. He was rich beyond most men's dreams since inheriting the fortune from the fire. How could he not have everything he wanted?

"Oh?" Erik sat at the foot of the bed, turned towards his drunken friend. His rosy cheeks complimented those glassy, glinting blue eyes. "What don't you have, Charles Xavier?" the younger boy grinned. Under the drunken flush he could better see the freckles near his nose. Motioning for Erik to come closer with a finger the telepath pinned him with those hazy blue eyes.

Erik trusted Charles but didn't trust his speaking range. Sure he could imagine anything he wanted to wear but this simple black turtleneck had wormed its way into his heart. It was his favorite, his signature item, and it would not be spewed on. Charles only motioned for a few seconds more after Erik failed to move. He may be drunk but drunk or not he was still a mutant and could move things with his mind.

Grinning at Erik's startled gasp the telepath dropped him carefully to the bed where he could lean against him like he always had. Erik's heart raced beneath his clothes as he recovered from the initial shock of Charles being able to perform in an inebriated state. Well, he'd been training himself, hadn't he? "I don't have you," finally answered Charles as he tucked the fingers of his left arm towards the belt loops of Erik's jeans, his voice muffled by the fabric of Erik's shirt. The warm breath plumed into his chest and Erik felt himself freeze.

Did he really just hear that? He was never disturbed by Charles reaching over and doing something silly like grabbing his belt loops because he'd always found a way to anchor himself. Erik was beginning to think Charles had nightmares about people disappearing, even more so since the fire. "Was?" answered Erik in his native tongue – something he only did when utterly surprised, something that was instinctual after he experienced genuine wordlessness – and it took Charles a moment or two to realize he'd asked 'what?'. It took him a bit longer to find something easy to say in German. Erik couldn't have any misunderstanding, then, if it was in his native tongue.

"Ich will dich," said the telepath. Erik's heart fluttered at the blatant translation of 'I want you' because Charles wasn't usually so forward. His heart also fluttered at the way his blue eyes were so hazy but so serious, and so intently focused despite the glossy sheen of his eyes. "Do you want me?" asked Charles next, also in German, and Erik was only speechless because half of him was rejoicing and half of him was demanding restraint when considering lavishing the obviously drunk young man. "No, not want me," Charles corrected himself in German and Erik was beginning to consider he wasn't drunk at all and his appearance was just to make him worry because Charles could do that to him.

"Do you _love_ me?"

"Ja." Erik was fully anticipating Charles to be drunk beyond the point of return. Or he told himself that Charles was so he could finally say it. Something in him trembled – hope, lust, relief – at the sight of Charles processing 'yes' and grinning up at him with the single most beautiful mouth Erik had ever seen. A mouth that he said for many years should not belong on the body of a boy because it was full, luscious, and red. Charles giggled, unable to help himself, and managed to stutter "Ich mach dir 'ja' sagen." because it had crossed his mind and he felt the calmest when he tried to make something both dirty and amusing.

The German laughed at Charles. He wasn't drunk if he could speak fluent German and make a dirty pun requiring complex thought like, 'I'll make you say 'yes'' had. Charming under the effects of alcohol was something he would have to add to the amazing qualities Charles Xavier possessed. Mostly falling into Erik the Englishman disregarded his poor balance and planted a long-awaited kiss to his mouth. Like Charles suspected Erik's lips were coarse because it followed his personality and outer chiseled appearance but the smooth roll they gave back into his own attested to the hidden tenderness he possessed.

Charles grinned against his lips and Erik was almost afraid to kiss him again in case it ruined the softness of his mouth. But god he wanted to! And he did. Erik allotted himself only five more kisses – parting was like removing stitches by plucking the thread – but Charles needed to recuperate. The telepath looked up him, blue eyes a mix of dreaminess and _how DARE you!_ as Erik went to untangle the rest of himself from scrumptious, drunken Charles Xavier.

"You're not leaving," laughed Charles as if Erik had done something sillier than trying to leave him alone. That was just unacceptable. Erik landed with a groan back onto the bed as the psychic forces pinned him downwards. The young boy smiled brightly at him, blush darker on his face for a reason beyond that the drink and Erik found himself smiling. Charles Xavier was a man of mystery, even to someone like him who'd known him for so long.

Erik rolled over on his side to face him. "It is not in you to be controlling," noted the metal bender, "so don't try now. It is in you, however, to be coherent and clean which you will be in the morning now sleep."

Charles grabbed his wrists as Erik's larger hands tried to subdue those wanting fingers. Erik was praying Charles would sober up swiftly or fall into an exhausted, drunken stupor because if CHARLES didn't have control what was he to do? Control in the face of a drunken Charles was not present whatsoever. "Oh yes it is." Replied Charles Xavier, much to the astonishment of Erik. The comment was enough to make him sit down again and Charles wormed his head onto his right leg, enjoying the fact that Erik was so spellbound.

"How so?"

"I've had control over you for a great while, my friend."

"You let me feel you every time you're in my mind," Erik explained, "so I'd know if you had control."

"I don't need to control your mind to control you. I control you when you worry about me like you did tonight. I've had you for quite some while, my friend." Erik sighed. This is what the night was mounting up to, wasn't it? He couldn't be in denial anymore. If they wanted anything – happiness, each other – they would have to own up and face their odd desires like men. "Haven't I?" Charles was so like the Cheshire cat from the _Alice in Wonderland _book as he grinned widely and smugly while Erik looked down on him like the angel he really was.

"Yes," Erik admitted slowly, allowing the tips of his fingers to brush the wild bed of curls. There was no word for how good it felt to finally say that. He felt his body relax and Charles seemed to feel it, too, because he shimmied farther across his lap so that his shoulders were supported at an angle and he could fold his arms behind his head.

"I give you credit, though, because for as much as I confounded you, you confounded me. It isn't easy for a man, much less a telepathic man, to admit he's been had."

"You're strangely insightful and coherent for a drunken man."

"I rearranged my brain chemistry about ten minutes ago."

"I suspected you weren't drunk when you could speak so nicely in German."

"I had a good teacher. But I simply couldn't live with the charade anymore. I had to come clean."

"You never were good at keeping secrets but I'm glad for that because I've been waiting on you for a while…"

"You're surprisingly good at kissing but you could stand to perfect your technique. You should try. Right now." Erik laughed. There was the Charles he knew. Subtly forward, nerdy, and hopelessly flirty. His methods of flirtation were an acquired taste like the many drinks he'd ingested. "And feel free to let me gauge the strength of your tongue. I imagine it must be good and strong since you speak in German so often…the extra syllables and whatnot." Erik grinned.

Charles loved that shark-esk smile. Erik granted him one more kiss – avoiding tongue as the relationship was very precious in its infancy – and Charles took it with pride. All good things started humbly. Shortly past midnight Charles was safely cuddled into his side and sleeping. He smiled so brightly he could light the room if he glowed at all and Erik tucked him under the covers with the one available hand he had.

Denial had never led to anything quite so beautiful.


	9. Original Ending: Crash Landing

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p>Sen2TOS9, Nekozawa Katsuki (welcome new blood!), rion (welcome new blood!), 4everYoung93, Black-Dranzer-1119, and Dreamwalker-Bibliophile reviewed the last chapter. We didn't reach 10 reviews but 6 was good enough – I simply couldn't leave you guys hanging for the holidays. <strong>This was the original intended ending<strong> for the story with the alternate coming perhaps after Christmas.

After this story ends I might retire from the XMFC fandom because I don't have any ideas. I want so badly to write for this fandom and I simply haven't liked anything I've put up. I either put it up and think it'll get reviews when it doesn't or happen to make something – such as this – that takes off without much future thought for a plotline until I sit down and analyze it. **You guys are the reason I write; I like to know it's being read and getting feedback on my works so let me know what you would be interested in seeing I guess.**

Now, to answer some reviews:

To **rion**: There are errors, yes. I never planned for the story to get this far and sometimes when I write through due process of typing the brain goes faster than the hands and errors are made. Thankfully you've been there to catch them! The skips in time were not my greatest orchestration but when I wrote this story I never even imagined it topping five chapters, which it has, so I had to find a way to match my original plot, expand it, and coherently do so. I will take you up on the suggestion to read over things in the near future, hopefully that will help bridge the gap between writer and reader in terms of coherency.

To **Black-Dranzer-1119**: Honestly that was a whim. I know Jean is telekinetic with small telepathic abilities and figured Charles could be the opposite. Though after I wrote the previous chapter I checked the Marvel character database and was disappointed to find that was not the case. Frankly I just needed something cute and shameless for Charles to do in order to surprise Erik. In the fandom Erik largely wears the nickers with Charles playing the 'mom' type but we all know who really wears the nickers and I just wanted to make Erik vulnerable for a bit because it's fun.

Durcheinander – mess.

**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter Nine: Crash Landing<p>

Charles Xavier woke up every day to the same two things since he and Erik had finally admitted a strong attraction to one another. One was Erik Lehnsherr and the other was a calendar with every day outlined in red marker. Erik was some eight months older than him and with rough math Charles decided March was his birth month. The Englishman woke up every day wondering if today would be the day he and Raven finally saw Erik Lehnsherr in the flesh. Early morning light filtered through the familiar curtains of his Bard room that would only be theirs until graduation some five months down the road and Charles sighed sleepily, blissfully.

Today was Saturday and he didn't have class. It was far too cold to be out and about even if he had it because vestiges of the February chill managed to survive. Inside he was warm and happy. Erik slept – snored, corrected Charles Xavier – unaware that for once he was the one late to rise. Charles didn't mind, taking pleasure in the angles and colors the light gave to his face. A face only he could see.

Love could not dampen the shocking point of his cheekbones that highlighted the downward slope towards the semi-squared chin. Erik's skin was still pale but Charles imagined it would be tan once the man got his body back. It wasn't so much that Erik liked to be out and about versus the fact he was always eyeing windows. Unfortunately after all that time had passed since first discovering Shaw – Schmidt – Erik was still sure Charles would be ripped away from him. That everything would be ruined.

Since first kissing Erik Lehnsherr those months ago Charles had snuggled back into the familiar niche only previously known in childhood. It was an special, honest place where Erik Lehnsherr was fully exposed, fully vulnerable, but perfectly protected by the younger boy. One of these days Charles would finally get the idea that he could walk about unguarded through his thick skull but for the time being he was fine with the cautious, possessive cuddling. More than fine, actually, and the telepath grinned against the crème sheets as Erik dragged a sleep-heavy limb across his torso in sleep. Occasionally he would get a snatch of panic – _Schmidt, Shaw, torture, gun powder, light, BANG! MOTHER! –_ like he was now and all it would take was a simple readjustment to set Erik back into peace.

Stifling another sigh and the urge to yawn Charles scooted his head delicately across Erik's upper torso and buried his nose in the tousled – stretched, worn, fragrant – fabric of Erik's favorite turtleneck. The sleeping man with his currently disheveled hair daring to breach those closed, beautiful blue eyes shifted in his sleep. Inhaled, grumbled, and set his chin solidly atop the soft curls of his boyfriend. Charles felt deeply loved and relished the strong, slow pulse in his boyfriend as he buried his face deeper to avoid the pressing fingers of light crawling across the room. He hoped today would be the day because it was getting hard loving Erik without loving him in the full.

He knew – despite the deep sleep, despite the insistency on aloofness towards people who couldn't even see him – Erik felt the same way. Charles learned some two weeks after their make out Erik couldn't taste him. That was highly disappointing because Erik tasted magnificent. There was a hint of a German beer on his breath – largely Charles fault because he'd indulged in one or two – along with a smell that was undeniably masculine and somehow translated into the taste of Erik. To Charles Erik's masculinity was like the fusion of several flavors since, as a ghost, Erik had no taste to speak of.

Erik Lehnsherr tasted like heat, German beer, tartness, firmness, and something languid and sinful. Utter perfection, really. "I wouldn't taste like beer if someone didn't drink last night…" Charles grinned and turned his head up slightly to stare at the underside of Erik's chin with his blue eyes. He liked to make the metal bender worry – so he had a drink or two – because when Erik worried those guarding walls came down and he was ravished the second he stepped through the door. Not that Erik didn't spoil him already…Charles just liked to feel that heat and almost aggravated tenderness conflicting with his mental worry, the mental firmness, with which Erik wanted to protect him.

It was rather kinky.

"Didn't mean to wake you," apologized Charles as Erik lifted a hand towards the partially opened curtains, his calloused, large hands causing the metal rings to jump towards the right and encase the room in darkness again. Erik sighed and opened his eyes to the ceiling, lazily wiggling downwards so Charles could be eye-level with him.

"Charles you're a very good friend and my favorite bedfellow so it hurts that you lie." Erik looked to him, able to feel the skin of his pampered, silky cheek against the edge of his nose. He knew Charles was grinning, and could feel the smile in his mind. Charles had been caught but he didn't mind. Morning was not Erik's favorite time of day though he was often up with thoughts run amuck or just up for the sake of quietly watching over Raven and Charles. In the morning his brain was still struggling to start and he his hidden penchant for being lazy, still, and calm took center stage.

Because of that slow start and Erik's want to just _be_ Charles could cuddle shamefully and steal as many kisses as he wanted. There was something rather attractive about a coarse – secretly soft – man in the backdrop of weak morning sun surrounded by his own untamed hair. The fact that Charles could smell the twined scent of _them _on the Bard sheets didn't help his desire. A soft hiss of air and a throaty note against waking up slipped from Erik and he brushed his lips against Charles' just in case the man was considering getting out of bed. Or tricking him out of bed.

Which he shouldn't want to because Erik let him squeeze the air out of him on a nightly basis and took his bed hog tendencies with love and a grain of salt. Charles seduced him into obedience long ago. He loved Charles to death and took his seemingly clever assaults of affection – from the stolen kisses to being pinned psionically and subsequently ravished – without resistance. As Erik suspected Charles Xavier was that dangerous combination of cocky, flirty, and wanting though not in control as he thought despite his telepathy. For now he had control but that was not and would not be the case much longer, thought Erik, because the second he got his body _it was on_.

Right now Charles was in control because Erik let him have control. The way Charles grasped desperately at his own definition of control and dominance pulled on Erik's heart. Really he was too cute for dominance and hadn't had much luck being that perfectly aweing kind of controlling like he had the night he pulled Erik to him. Whatever the case Charles' softness and wanting kiss was highly appreciated. Erik inhaled through his nose, his mouth incapable of inhaling anything due to Charles' tongue and his own making a formidable blockade, and grinned at the feel of Charles soft, usually ink-stained hands sliding up his shirt towards his shoulders.

God he wanted it, wanted Charles. Shaw had taken more than his body from him, more than he could ever imagine, but Erik felt Charles could give it back. Could teach him those things, hold his hand, walk him through it, and make those milestones with him. He felt those fingers caress his shoulders until they slipped behind to interconnect at the back of his neck. Erik wished to hell he could taste Charles – his mind was constantly overrun with things Charles might taste like and he was furious that his curiosities could not be answered.

Certain things crossed his mind – Charles' favorite foods varied to his mood but usually included English muffins, strawberries with cream, eggs, and bacon – but he had no way of knowing. Maybe today he would find out, Erik mused wistfully. He could learn to live with Earl Gray if Charles ended up tasting like that; that horrible drink was his favorite and Erik didn't even like the smell of it so it took little to imagine he wouldn't like the taste of it. But still…it was a part of Charles and he loved Charles. Erik could easily retaliate by drinking a strong and awful German brew and the thought alone made him laugh.

Then it really would be a war, thought the older boy. They would be at each other's mouths in lust and determination to make the other taste something god awful. Eventually their war would taper out into mindless, blissful love making because Erik would make it so. Charles' mutant ability of telepathy had coaxed him out of a shell but the fact remained that Xavier loved being tended to and Erik would abuse that whole-heartedly. It would be wonderful.

"Yes it would," agreed Charles as he finally sat up. Raven had been moving around too much for him to be in any awkward positions should she choose to come out. Sure Erik couldn't be seen but what if today was the day and he suddenly materialized beneath him, between his thighs? At seventeen Raven wasn't ignorant about sexual things – though Charles had made sure she hadn't had intercourse yet – but he'd prefer not to scar her. He settled beside Erik who was also sitting up by the time Raven shuffled out in her robe towards the refrigerator blindly searching for something to eat.

She'd turned with only a glass of orange juice in her hand, wanting nothing in the fridge, and pursed her lips at the happy but too awake Charles. Raven wanted Erik to be real and fast. After the night they first made out, admitted they loved one another, Charles barely indulged in drinking and instead turned his attention to grooming her for her own college future close at hand. It was annoying. That look – twinkling blue eyes electric, awake, and heavily denied with that lust being tempered by sheer restraint – meant she was going to have yet another day centered around her upcoming college life.

The refrigerator was missing key items such as cheese and low on others like eggs and milk so she assumed today's foray into 'adulthood' would include learning how to shop at the grocery store. Shopping was something she could do but despite their vast fortune Charles was insistent on teaching her to be frugal. Traits like that often left Raven calling him 'old' despite his youth. "Good morning," greeted Charles cheerfully as he got up from the bed in his rumpled nightshirt and sweat pants. Toasting him Raven watched as the draw string of those pants danced upwards like someone was tapping it, and her brother flushed a deep crimson before muttering something and audibly hissing 'shoo!'.

A smile graced her blue lips as she sipped her juice. Things had certainly brightened since they broke down and admitted their obvious affection…even if the dorm had gotten noisier as a result. She may not be able to see Erik but she had seen their love. Only a blind person wouldn't have been able to see something strong, deep, and powerful happening between the two. For the moment she could be glad they were saving anything heavier than kissing for when Erik got his body.

Charles moved past her to pour a cup of cold tea and frowned at the contents of the refrigerator. "We'll need to go shopping today," warned the older Xavier. Raven rolled her eyes.

"Can you do it without me? I was supposed to meet Rachel and Davinna around lunch for a shopping trip." Charles exhaled a disappointed sigh through his nose and shook his head. How could Raven possibly want to shop? Her dorm closet was positively cluttered beyond recognition and Charles wasn't so sure those friends should be goading her into shopping. As it was she was loose with money and Charles gathered her friends often subtly pressured her into buying them things. She was developing an unhealthy habit and Charles was afraid to leave her alone just yet because of her tendency to make unwise monetary choices.

"You need to learn these things," said Charles as if the topic of her going to the grocery store was not up for debate. Though he knew it would be because Raven had somehow absorbed Erik's charm and constantly escaped matters he thought should have priority over her original plans. "Shopping for clothes will not help you survive life. As it is you have more clothes than you need. Before you shop you'll go through what you have and figure out what you want to donate."

"Fine, _mom_." Raven crossed her arms as she downed the last of her juice, licked her lips, and washed the cup. "After I do that can I go out with Rachel and Davinna?"

"Is your room clean?"

"You are such an old person…"

"An old person not above spanking. I won't live forever Raven. You need to learn independence and good choices."

"You'll live as long as Erik's heart beats…or he floats…you get the point." Charles restrained the lazy smile signifying the fact he'd been partially stupefied by the name of his lover.

"That's not the point," finally back on track Charles felt Raven's resistance ebbing. "You need to learn how to do these things. You're almost a legal adult." She had a few more months and then Charles could see her going wild. The idea of a perfectly adult Raven scared him. Her mind was still so intently focused on finding someone to love her as much as he and Erik did, someone who wasn't family, and he could only hope she wasn't careless in that search. What would he do if she wound up pregnant?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the mere thought. "I know," Raven's annoyed grumble set his mind straight as he returned to the situation at hand. She shouldered past him – a show of mock sibling irritation – to dress for the day. Charles brushed a lone hand down his wrinkled shirt and figured he should also get dressed. It wouldn't be setting a good example if he didn't. _Let me help you_, came the amused and unabashed purr of Erik Lehnsherr as Charles found his bottoms ripped from his hips.

Stammering and trying not to trip in the pool of fabric the telepath flushed. Damn Erik! He froze in sheer embarrassment as Raven returned to the kitchen, having forgotten a headband she discarded the night before, and paused to shake her head. A sassy look crossed her features and she put her hands on her hips. "You get onto him right now," demanded the girl, "you get onto me all the time for walking around in my natural form and Erik's intent on showcasing yours."

"Had I known he was going to do it I would've stopped him. And he's not showcasing my form. He's just trying to help me dress before you do."

"You _lie_," replied Raven dryly but utterly amused as she turned her nose up and marched back into her room. Since Charles and Erik had gotten past their uncertainty she learned Lehnsherr was quite hands-on (though she wished she hadn't learned that). It also meant she had more time to get dressed as Charles was often distracted. Charles flared his nostrils at Erik, unable to really be cross with him, and draped the mistreated sweat pants over his arm as he moved to his room. Erik smiled to himself and waited outside the door to be polite, intent with listening to Charles safely shuffle around through the door.

At least he was safe…though he could feign danger detected by an otherworldly 'ghost-only' sense and peek at his musculature. But that would be wrong. And he might scare Charles which could be seen as 'bad' and extend his sentence when today might be his last day. _You don't have to lie to see me, anyways_, came the soft voice into his conscience seconds before Charles Xavier opened the door to reveal his attire for the day. It was a long-sleeved shirt with a cardigan and tie, like he always seemed to wear, but Erik thought he looked adorably nerdy.

_Erik, you're making me blush_…the telepath fixed his tie and cleared his throat. He would love it if Erik was solid, possessed all of his senses, and wished to interrupt his dressing time. That would be lovely, but without taste the romp wouldn't be as sweet.

_Then I'm doing my job. _At that Xavier quirked a lone eyebrow. He had a 'job' too, if that was the case. Erik sucked in a breath as images from their steamier nights slammed into him. Unfortunately he could feel but not taste, and he wished it was the other way around so Charles couldn't heat him up like this.

It nothing short of pure sin to have one man make him feel so weak. _Charles quit teasing me! _The demand was soft and heavily laced with desperation. Petty anger and relenting resistance. A touch of weakness to accommodate the rush of giddy delight Charles could feel in his mind.

_Teasing, is that what I'm doing? Then I guess I'm doing my job…_

"Are we going to go to the store or are you going to try and hump the wall?" Charles flushed a deep scarlet when he realized their games had caused him to draw closer to Erik. Of course it was all in good fun but he supposed to someone who could no longer see Lehnsherr it did look like he was being rather lecherous with the closest unsuspecting wall. Raven smirked smugly at her elder brother and Charles cleared his throat.

"To the store, of course."

"I mean if you _want _I can leave you two alone. I'll even stay out of your way until you're finished. Rachel and Davinna make good company."

"I'd like that. You'd like that but it's not going to happen. Let's go before you _do _manage to con me out of this _rewarding _experience."

"Hey," Raven laughed dryly, "don't worry about me. Worry about Erik."

"I'll worry about both of you on the way to the store."

"_Such _an old man." Teased the disguised blonde girl as Charles shook his head, linked elbows with her, and started off towards the parking lot. Erik settled in the back seat, Charles manning the vehicle, and watched the familiar scenery of the college fade away. The welcoming arms of Westchester were familiar, too, but seemed like a dream since they hadn't been there in a while. Raven managed to negotiate a check-in call with Davinna and Rachel prior to entering the store and Erik frowned. She really didn't want to do this, did she?

Not only that but Charles knew just as well as Erik that the phone callwould hold them up. By the time Raven had finished - some ten minutes later, causing Charles to look odd because he stood by the wayside - Davinna and Rachel knew where she was and were intent on crossing her path deliberately. Charles' telepathic insight told him that if the two girls managed that Raven would getly beg her way off the hook. It always worked because he couldn't stand being stared at like _that_ - the way all impatient, hopeful, childish, selfish women stared when he was the single force standing between them and a goal - for anything longer than a minute. He held her attention for a little over half an hour before she couldn't take it anymore.

Thankfully the trip to the grocery store wasn't a long one. Charles needed only the essentials and had spent the majority of the time stressing the importance of checking eggs and fruits. He reached the checkout line with roughly two bags' worth of groceries and had only gotten halfway towards the cashier before Raven spied her friends. Davinna and Rachel were just as guilty in their excitement and jumping up and down before the exit doors like puppies in a display window. Only three people away now Charles didn't feel too panicked when Raven decided to break away and step outside to chat.

He could still see her, after all. _Already on it…_Charles smiled in the direction of the three girls because Erik was already floating towards them. That was something he loved about Erik…about them…even if he wasn't a telepath he didn't need to be for Erik to understand him. It was enough to make him feel warm inside despite the on again-off again heat of March. A sense of urgency instinctually took over when Davinna and Rachel darted carefully across the street in the last few seconds of the crossing light's approved timeframe and Charles exhaled when Raven proved to chicken out and stay on the other side.

She would try as soon as the light permitted and he hoped he was done by then. He could tell Raven was waiting on him. The light changed several times before Charles finally met the cashier. The woman, Christie, was perhaps as amused as him at Raven's fight to successfully make it across. His sister reminded him of an ocean wave stuck in a cycle of surging and receding.

Her desperation and want to be with her friends caused her to surge forward but at the last minute she would look to Charles, see he wasn't done, and draw back impatiently to the safety of the sidewalk so they were on the same side of the street. At seventeen she still had separation issues largely owed to her life before him and the loss of their parents. Charles gave her a nod so she'd catch the 'WALK' light while it still had enough time and she grinned as he got closer to the door. Erik watched in mild amusement as Charles struggled to squeeze out of the exit door with two bulging bags crushed to his sides but quit looking when something else caught his eye. His mother.

She was standing on the opposite side of the street, just a few concrete squares away from Raven's friends. Her eyes were kind, warm, and twinkled in the summer sun. Or would have twinkled, could sun actually highlight her. "RAVEN!" Charles' alarmed cry caused Erik to swivel sharply in move that would've snapped his neck had he been human and then Erik understood. His mother wasn't here for him, but for another person. Another spirit.

Without even thinking Erik threw his hand out. The cab was mere seconds away from Raven and she was too stunned to react. She was sure the light had granted her more time than that! Erik could feel the gears struggling to stop, feel the pressure in his blood as the driver mashed both feet desperately on the break. Groceries exploded from the bag on account of Charles' desperate squeezing, his mind too stunned to stop the car as time appeared to move eerily slow.

It moved so slow he was afraid he wouldn't get there on time. That he wouldn't be able to respond and his sister's death would forever be a perfect still-frame in his mind. _No! GOD NO! _Erik felt the psionic tension created by Charles tickle at his back. He had to do something because Charles couldn't. Maybe he'd been a ghost all this time for a reason?

Everything was moving so fast. The idea that Raven might – that she could be – it was all too dizzying to even finish. To comprehend. Closer to the car now than he had been Erik forcibly stopped all of the metal gears and even caused the hubcaps to spin backwards from beneath the vehicle. Now it was away from Raven, not by much, but it was away.

Charles heaved a great, desperate sigh of relief at the sight. He kicked cans of beans and peas away to hug her. GOD what a wonderful thing to know she was alright, and to know that Erik had saved her life. Raven cried into his chest and Charles shushed her, rocked her, knowing the near-death experience had rattled them both. "Charles…oh Charles…oh god Charles…I thought…I thought-!"

"No, no, it's alright!"

"My god," the cabdriver jumped out, "the lady, is she okay? I did not hurt you, yes?" he was thin, dark-skinned, and obviously scared. Charles could guess it was because he looked extremely foreign and accidentally killing someone would not bode well for him.

"I-I'm fine," managed Raven. The man released a sigh of his own and clutched his heart. From where she stood Raven could lift her knee and successfully touch the left headlight of the vehicle. She looked the front of the car, exhaling a shaky breath, and gasped as she lowered her knee. She was fine, but Erik wasn't.

Dumbfounded and not completely cognizant but _knowing _that's who the semi-tan face belonged to Raven just pointed. The cabdriver uttered a gasp and Charles dropped to his knees. That was Erik! He was wedged perfectly under the car and his blue eyes weren't open but Charles knew the fall of that downy, somewhat dry brunette and the shape of that gradually paling face. "Hold on, my friend, hold on. He's called an ambulance and you're going to be alright!" stuttered Charles even though he didn't necessarily believe it, cradling that beloved head above the cold concrete.

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><p><em>"Alles ist gut<em>," Erik heard his mother say and disregarded his feet as he phased through the car. Sometimes he forgot he was actually a ghost because Charles could make him feel so…human. Charles looked up hopefully with bleary blue eyes, cringing as he rubbed the back of his neck. Erik twitched in his sleep and looked oddly healthy for someone who'd just been run over though he'd fallen into some sort of shock-induced state of temporary unconsciousness. Raven pinched at his right hand hopefully, wanting to believe Erik had woken up because felt all of those attachments and wires but the brunette's semi-tan face fell expressionless once again.

He'd been unconscious when they pulled him from under the car and loaded him into the ambulance, marveling at how he seemed unscathed when they cut away his clothes to check for damage. Had the situation not been what it was Charles would've blushed at seeing him bare and fleshy for the first time. Now he just wanted Erik to wake up so he could thank him, tell him how happy he was to see him, and hold him. The man…his friend…his boyfriend…had been largely unresponsive for about four hours now. According to the doctors he had some magical force looking out for him – how else could he have escaped so minimally damaged? – but it was likely he'd mentally stunned himself with the near-death experience.

Essentially they said Erik might be too afraid to wake up. Charles took the fleeting twitches of his brows to mean he wasn't totally unresponsive, but dreaming. Perhaps reliving the slow seconds leading up to him getting run over with the vehicle – saving Raven's life – because he knew that brow-pinched look. Erik was determined in his mental adventures, and the micro twitches of his arms, the jolt that wiggled his bare feet made Charles think he was running to save her. Raven leaned forward and breathed a tired sigh against the knuckles of Erik's left hand, kissing them slightly, because he was so loved and so eerily still.

She hadn't seen him in a long time and she certainly didn't wish to see him in a hospital bed.

_"What He taketh away He can giveth again. You will be alright, my bärchen. Alles ist gut._" Assured his mother when it had become very apparent Erik could not get out from _under _the car. A sense of panic swelled in him as everyone worried about Raven and overlooked him. It was odd he could actually…actually feel. His toes scraped and twisted against the underside of the heavy vehicle and a tingle raced up the side of his leg, probably from the car engine still running above him. Erik felt like he couldn't breathe.

He imagined it was because he wasn't used to feeling everything move and beat again from the action. During his time as a ghost he breathed out of habit. Now he actually _needed _oxygen and couldn't get it. The only reason the car wasn't completely crushing him was because of his ability; even now with his hands pinned palm-up to the concrete he could feel the magnetic field keeping him from certain death. Erik tried to grunt, to get Charles attention but he was forgetting what to say.

His mind felt hazy. He couldn't breathe. The colors of the world burned his eyes now that he could see so clearly with his new sense of life. It was all overwhelming. Wheezing Erik groaned and shut his eyes.

Why was he so tired? Did he need sleep now that he had a physical form again? Could he really sleep trapped beneath a car? He tried to look for his mother but couldn't see her and yet he didn't have to. She told him it was going to be okay and he believed her.

His last fragment of consciousness was highlighted by a stuttering telepath and the feel of someone lifting his head. _Charles…_

_I'm here, my friend, and so are you. You're just dreaming. It's alright. We're in the hospital. You can wake up now…we've been waiting to see you for a long time._

Erik breathed deeply and peeled his eyes open. Strangely he felt exhausted like he'd depleted every ounce of strength in him but there was something about looking at Charles Xavier, looking to Raven, and knowing he was alive. That they could see him and he could feel again. Though he wished he couldn't because the hospital bed was dreadfully uncomfortable with scratchy sheets perfumed by too many antiseptics for Erik to like. Almost like the room belonging to Herr Doctor.

"None of that now," chided Charles as Raven jumped up to life and squeezed the ever-loving _durcheinander _out of his arm. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just got run over by a taxi," grunted Erik as Raven finally released him, allowing him to feel the muscles in his own arm when he flexed his hand, pushed his palms down, to resituate himself. Charles pursed his lips before they were split into a wide, grateful smile. At least Erik hadn't lost his sense of humor. Seeing him in the pale bedsheets reminded the telepath of when Erik chose to wear a white suit to the dance, and he smiled larger.

"Well you look far better than that, I think." Replied the telepath giddily, tiredly, as he fought the instinct to curl up next to Erik. He could stand to be apart and admire him a few minutes longer. Charles wasn't sure why he looked tanner – maybe because he was full of life now? – but he was far darker than him though not shockingly so and his face was smooth despite the outward coarseness that screamed _Erik_. His eyes were the same blue they had always been, still spoke volumes, still captivating. Tired, hungry, cautious, loving, surprised, happy.

Still Erik.

"Me too," agreed Raven in a chipper purr as she nearly broke his hand off in another squeeze. Erik stifled a grunt and smiled. Being thrown back into his body while it was pinned under a hot, running car, left him feeling sore though he had no abrasions or bruises to make him seem sore. He was sure Charles had his hand in protecting him, too, after he finally passed out. Telepaths were powerful when scared, and Charles had always been powerful without the fear – he was a docile kind of powerful.

"In fact," Erik looked up at the epitome of calm as Charles Xavier switched spots with Raven to seat carefully at his hip, a smile on his face. "I'd say you look far better than I'd ever imagined you would."

"Should I take that as an insult, Charles?" the telepath shivered. Erik had still certainly kept that dry, pointed voice of his, hadn't he? Charles gleaned amusement from the question by the way his lover's voice dropped to a lower range. If he wasn't sore…wasn't in that hospital bed-!

"Not at all," the Englishman curled up carefully next to the metal-bender so he could hear that strong – loving – heart beat slowly and softly beneath the gown. That roaring, brave, confident heart was housed in a perfectly solid, perfectly honed body. It all matched Erik's quiet but powerful demeanor. His heart twisted as Erik made an effort to angle his left hand – the weaker hand – downward to brush Charles' curls. Charles felt completely enshrouded by heat, comfort, and the musk that was Erik.

Even if it was in a hospital bed the first _real _embrace was far better, meant far more, than Charles would've ever imagined. "I think so too," Charles jumped to hear the rumble of Erik's quiet baritone spring up from his chest. He wasn't used to that. The laugh was his though – dry, utterly amused, just a trace of a higher lilt at the end – and Charles felt his face flush a nice shade of cherry. _You're blushing…I must be doing my job. Now…how do you taste? I've been wondering that, you know…_

_I DO know_, Charles wrinkled his nose much to the delight of Erik as their mental conversation seemed to pull him towards Erik as if by an invisible string. The telepath licked his dry lips and cautiously brushed them along Erik's. To feel warmth, coarseness, and tenderness was something else – it set his heart thundering behind his chest. Erik wanted more and Charles didn't deny the bedridden man. Raven groaned behind them and turned around until she could no longer hear the distinct sounds of two tongues intermingling.

"Mmm…strange," mused Erik as Charles finally broke away. He almost forgot he needed oxygen now, and his lungs hurt as they pulsed for it, but it was worth it. "I taste smoke and maybe a cola, I think."

"It's a rare habit. Happens when I need to relieve stress," informed the telepath. Erik didn't necessarily remember Charles ever smoking but what if he'd always altered his memory about the topic? What if he HAD caught him once? Erik brushed it off, finding the taste still very attractive. Very Charles, as it were, because an occasional smoke fit his 'elderly' personality.

"Better than I imagined…" grinned Erik.

"I know," Charles cuddled back up to his side, resting his head on his shoulder, and let a lone hand walk across his chest. He liked to feel Erik's heartbeat now that it was warm and solid beneath his hands. Now that Erik was. This was no illusion, thought the telepath, and he laughed after the insistent memory caught up with him. It was dusty but he distinctly remembered trying to convince Erik he'd been created by Charles but feeling him now…knowing everything they'd been through…he knew Erik couldn't be an illusion.

An illusion of his could never be as perfectly imperfect or beautiful as Erik Lehnsherr.


	10. Alternate Ending: Herr Doctor

Something Beyond Imagination

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Thanks to rion, (welcome, you're new!), 4everYoung93, kumagorox3, Sen2TOS9, WingsAndWater (welcome, new one!), and Dreamwalker-Bibliophile for reviewing the last chapter. The ride on this story has just been _so fun_‼! Thanks to everyone who put the story on their favorites'/alert list!

**My Cherik train isn't derailed like I once suspected! On the contrary I runneth over with ideas! Check out **_Possible Cherik Fic Ideas _**for oneshot-styled excerpts for each of the ideas. Two down, ten more to go!**

In other news I will be updating _All About Us_ very soon and will get _A State of Normality_'s sequel's second chapter up shortly after.

Now to answer some reviews:

To rion – I think you got confused because when I had it transition from the taxi cab scene to the hospital I wanted to embellish it more from Erik's point of view. I guess that would cause confusion though :o. Sorry, it seemed to fit better in my head when I wrote it out and read it over. Perhaps I assumed what I saw and what my logic made of it would carry over to the readers.

To – Thank you very much! And I have come up with a couple things. The two excerpts I have out now are rock star Erik x Columnist Charles based and Nazi hunter Erik x CIA Agent Charles.

This is not the original intended ending for the story and as such will be different than the original.

**Summary: What if Erik Lehnsherr died in the camps as a young boy? What if he was given a chance to live again? Frankly he didn't imagine becoming a guardian angel when he didn't FEEL angelic but anything would do. His charge is the young Charles Xavier who thinks he's the best illusion ever.**

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><p>Chapter Ten: Herr Doctor<p>

Erik was beginning to feel _too _loved as Raven again placed a mountain of pancakes on his empty breakfast plate. He'd only been 'real' for three days – counting this one – and she was already trying to give him a heart attack, judging by the half-quart of butter sliding down the stack. Charles snickered into his tea cup, sipping chilled Earl Gray quietly as Erik poked the top pancake. Clearly she was a better cook that Charles but not by much as the butter-moistened pancake seemed to defy the laws of gravity and adorned his fork like a hat instead of food. "Perfection," grumbled Erik through a mouthful of pancake that mostly tasted like charcoal, butter, and maple syrup.

Raven clapped excitedly and Charles managed to chase his halved English muffin around the remains of a runny egg before taking a bite. At least Raven's heart was in the right place. If she spent as much time cooking as she did shopping the two boys wouldn't look so afraid. Not that she cared; her world had brightened substantially since Erik had returned to his body in the quiet of the Bard room and she was already busy planning what they could show him today. On his first day back they walked around the campus so he could actually feel it under his feet, feel the sunshine, the light chill, and experience the trees sway.

The second day they drove back to Westchester so he could explore the mansion he'd spent so much time in. Feel the floorboards creak under his feet, catch the not-quite-gone smell of fire that had caused the remodeling. It was a somber experience yet enlightening, enthralling and emotional. Just sitting on the bed where he first pretended to 'camp' with Charles took his breath away. Tempting him with unexplainable laughter to be had.

Today Raven wanted something different, something _exciting_! "We should go shopping," she suggested joyfully. "You'll need a new wardrobe since you can't imagine yours anymore." Charles flicked his eyes to Erik, a lazy smile parting his red lips. _You don't NEED clothes but for society you should have them_, added Charles. Erik grinned midway into his fourth pancake. And they thought _he _was the bad one with his dark attitude.

Charles Xavier could be naughty, too. He knew all too well. Raven wrinkled her nose at the mental conversation when their faces to started to turn _that_ way as they looked at one another. Next thing she knew they'd be having mental sex at the table! _Shouldn't have thought of that_…shuddered the mutant as she picked up her own plate, scraped off the bits too small to be bothered with into the trash, and set it in the sink.

_No you shouldn't have_, Charles' happy mental voice seemed to purr to her. Raven gave a cry of mock aggravation and disappeared into her room. A telepathic brother she could deal with but not when he was always on the edge of her mind. She'd rather have him for things like seeing when it would rain or helping her find an earring she'd lost. Though she loved every bit of him, mutant ability included.

When Charles was done fawning over Erik nearly an hour later – small things like running his fingers through his hair, admiring the color of his eyes, appreciating his smell – he decided Raven's idea had some worth. Erik would need new clothes. His shirts were far too small on the tall, broader man and Erik had longer legs – Charles' sweatpants looked like kids' clothes on him! "We'll have you looking dashing for the public," mused Charles as Erik shivered slightly when the other carded his fingers softly through his hair. He liked to pull Erik's hair back a bit; it tamed his semi-long bangs and let his face steal the attention it deserved.

"I think you just want to dress me, Charles." teased Erik as the telepath laughed into the top of his head.

"That may be a factor," muttered the telepath in an amused, slow drawl as Erik finally stood from the dining table. It's not like he was going to finish the pancakes, anyways. He imagined Raven had given them privacy should simple stares and mental conversations lead to anything else but he knew – like he knew metal livened his veins – she was waiting behind her door. Once the girl mentioned shopping – able to get this one in motion due to valid reason – she locked herself into a certain mode. A shopping mode where sales tags, sizes, colors, and traffic could easily be calculated in a fashion unlike he'd ever seen.

The ability to shop was clearly her secondary ability.

Because of her they ended up going on a five hour shopping trip. Erik couldn't say he was particularly excited about the ordeal. Now he knew why Charles always groaned and took off his shoes as soon as they got back! His feet were beginning to hurt and at one point – maybe at the two and a half hour mark? – the windows and store merchandise started blending together. Everything looked the same and he was tired of being shoved in a room just to have Raven throw clothes over the door.

She was giving him credit for being able to pull off colors and fashions he loathed. Erik couldn't hate her – well maybe he could after seeing whatever the hell that was meant for men with a leopard-like pattern – because it was an exciting thing for her. Raven loved to shop in general and being able to dress coarse, crabby, only-solid-colors Erik Lehnsherr was proving too fun. Though she wasn't winning the fight to infuse him with color and nearly everything she threw at him had been thrown back at her. "Charles can you _please _tell him to try something that isn't a solid color?" Raven demanded of her brother as Erik stepped out in a solid black long-sleeved shirt.

Charles found himself blushing. He knew the idea of the sizes varied across the stores and that Erik was medium but in _this _medium the muscles of his torso were very apparent. They stretched the chest thinly to where Charles could see the lines separating his pectoral muscles and his abdominal muscles. "I think he looks nice," managed Charles. Raven growled to herself and rolled her eyes, muttering something along the lines of 'why do I try?'.

Erik grinned victoriously and reversed his crooked lean on the door to the dressing rooms. He won that round. Now if he could only convince them that this would be okay for the _rest _of his wardrobe. It was hard and Erik had only managed to do so by picking out a coat or two and frustrating Raven with rejection to the point where she didn't care. Charles could care less and thought what Erik _had _picked suited his personality.

Finally deciding the multiple bags were too heavy they managed to stuff them into the car before heading back to campus. Raven would've rather kept them in the car and driven to get a quick bite instead but Charles was paranoid. He'd rather take the purchases to the Bard room, drop them off, make sure they were safe, and _then _grab an early dinner. Or a very late lunch since they had bypassed the meal in effort to comb all the shops. Had Raven known even a fraction of what Erik had shared with Charles she would've understood why he insisted on dropping the cantankerous bags off at the dorm.

Charles liked to think since Erik was alive and well nothing bad could possibly ruin the near-dream he lived every day but that would be something silly to think. Erik may have come to him as a ghost but memories of Shaw were very real. He half-hoped the man in those memories had been dead for a while but he could tell by the way Erik watched the streets with care that it wasn't stupid to think he wasn't dead. What if – by some freak occurrence – Shaw was alive? Even worse, what if he knew Erik was alive?

What if he was looking to finish the experiment that had been ruined by his death? Thoughts like that let Charles see what a danger heavy bags could be. Carrying so many was the perfect opportunity for a man like that to apprehend them. He didn't think he could handle it if Shaw got his hands on Raven, much less Erik. She had a craving for pasta but Charles managed to dissuade that because of the slight worry Erik exuded.

Now that he was visible Charles could hear just a hint of worry that he would look very out of place in such a nice restaurant. They hadn't bought him anything particularly nice because Charles wouldn't be at Bard much longer, would probably transfer to Oxford, and Erik had yet to _need _a good suit. He'd just been given a body! Not only was Erik concerned with being watched – mostly due to his paranoia – but Charles felt it was thrusting him into something he may not be ready for since all of his senses had recently returned. Growing up beside them as a ghost was one thing and walking down streets fully enabled was another.

He didn't want to create a chance for Erik to panic or feel overwhelmed. "Why don't we just go to the bar?" huffed Raven, a touch miffed since Charles had 'politely' declined her suggestion for Italian in the way that meant no debate would be had. "It's where you'll probably end up!" she grumbled as Charles sighed through his nose, puckering his lips thinly at her. Erik roped an arm around her waist in a manner purely sibling- like and Raven resisted a tiny grin crafted by the way he so effortlessly corralled her to him.

"If it's any consolation he can probably make you think you're eating pasta," pointed out Erik. "And if it makes you smile I'll be nice to _one _boy at the bar for you...for at least five minutes." Charles smiled as Raven took the bait. There was something alluring and heart-warming at how Erik would do anything to make her smile. It wasn't rare so much as it was a contrast to his usual conservative demeanor largely meant to scare people always from them. The honest smile looked coarse and even flirtatious as he kissed Raven's head and Charles felt his cheeks warm.

Good lord was Erik even aware of the faces he could make with all that new flesh? His heart galloped down slowly to its natural rhythm as they entered the bar, Raven just finished adjusting her body to look twenty-one. Charles stood by just in case the bartender questioned Erik – he was three days into living, he had no paperwork! – but surprisingly he went unchecked. Well…it wasn't too surprising; it was a bar near a college campus so Charles imagined it was pretty relaxed by default. Most of the current drinkers were _from _the college and he had a suspicion that if the bartender actually enforced the drinking law he wouldn't be doing half as well as he was.

Aside from that Erik had a rugged-looking tint to his age. It made him look a bit older with or without the dim bar lights. The way he carried himself also helped. Charles imagined if he had lived through the camps he would be a hardened type chasing recklessly after Shaw. Something akin to a vigilante with a vendetta hardened by time, memories, vengeful desire, and exercise meant to keep him fit for _the _day.

He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the waitress asking what he'd like to drink instead of the insistent twitch beneath the table and between his thighs. Damn Erik. "A cola," choked out Charles, determined to think of anything else so he wouldn't be stuck in an awkward situation. Raven sent him a mildly disgusted but oh-so amused look when she realized why his cheeks were pink, and Erik managed a tiny laugh before picking up a menu in attempt to shield himself from that pouty, evil glare. At last – thinking of nuns, igloos, and the high death count of the Titanic, how those people froze to death amongst other things – he could pretend like nothing ever happened.

Though not for long. It irked him to know people would look down on them for being themselves. Who cared if they were gay? He loved just like everyone else, his love just happened to be the same sex. Charles had half a mind to distort everything in the bar so he could just hold Erik's hand – the urge was winning steadfastly against his own morals – but lost his concentration.

Erik was holding his hand. It had been a silent, undetected move, but he knew the texture of that larger hand. Relished its warmth and coarseness against his own skin. He went to untangle their fingers as the waitress approached but recognized the subtle pressure as a sign not to. Their waitress, a girl named Cindy, gave them a cautious, skeptical glance and Charles – for once – was speechless.

Too embarrassed. Loved, awed, but embarrassed. "He understands sign language so he likes to keep Charles' hands close. Helps him better understand." Lied Raven. Charles' mild surprise was barely covered and even Erik admired her quick wit though it made him seem like some sort of disabled idiot. At least he got to hold Charles' hand.

"Oh well, what do you want to eat?" Charles could tell Cindy resisted making a scooping motion to illustrate her question. Thankfully Charles _did _know sign language to perpetrate the lie. It was something he'd learned at that unbearable preparatory school. After asking him in sign language Erik turned the menu around to the waitress and pointed to a hearty club sandwich. She nodded, scribbling away on the notepad, and looked to Raven and Charles.

Only after she went away did they laugh. "You're terrible, Raven." Chided Erik in perfect German. The blonde lifted her glass of cola and toasted him, grinning cattily. Raven ordered a salad to go with her fish basket, Charles had a bowl of soup with a few pieces of bread, and Erik ate fries with his sandwich. Or they would have, had they not spent so much time talking, simply laughing.

It was one thing to have had Erik in their childhood and another to see him at their table – real – like he wasn't dead. Sitting at the table, eating in a bar not too far from the college they could fool the world. He could be a friend that never left. Just one that had never seen the world since his childhood. In a way –Charles mused on the idea as he licked cola from his lip and dragged the excess soup off the back of the spoon before taking a bite—they were entrusted to protect him like he had brought it on himself to do for them.

They knew about the world he'd missed out on as a ghost. He didn't know as much and could stand to know more, if only just to be safe. It was an amusing concept and Charles grinned as he took another spoonful of chilled potato soup. By the time they finished eating it was more the time Charles like to drink. This would be exciting – he'd always wanted Erik to drink with him!

Erik looked a bit cautious as Charles proposed indulging in the drink. Raven couldn't because of her condition and Erik didn't feel totally right leaving her alone in the 'fun'. As if she knew the cause for his deliberation Raven waved him off. She'd gotten perfectly used to drinking cola while Charles made a fool of himself. Charles was fully prepared to be the more sober of the two of them.

With Erik being recently reinstated into flesh he wasn't sure what kind of capacity he had. But…he had come from German influences so there may be no reason to worry. Erik's first drink of choice was a lager. It was bitter, strong, and semi-sweet but he drank it anyways. Beside him Charles opted for something heavier and pungent, far darker than his drink.

Charles was steadily out-drinking him but in his own defense Erik thought the lager was larger. It was put in a different glass, after all. But he wasn't really good with volume-based math – or math at all, thanks to Shaw – so the question fell unanswered, and by the wayside. He did know that Charles was pissed when he cut him off at midnight. Raven looked utterly awake but he assumed that was because she'd ingested so much sugary soda.

"Go pay the tab. I'll wait for you outside," whispered Erik as she fished bills out of Charles' left-hand pocket. It only occurred to Raven after Erik asked her to go pay that they'd never taught him about British pounds or any type of currency. Little did she know he had a piece of currency on him, a coin given to him by a sinister old man. It was the only bit of money Erik really knew and the only reason he held onto it was so he could repay the kind doctor. One day…if the old devil was actually alive anymore.

The possibility that he wasn't crossed his mind but that would be just _too _easy. Something dark in Erik wished he wasn't just so he might get that chance to kill him. Outside the streets were lit by a sprinkle of lamps to fend off the dark sky overhead. Erik clasped Charles to him, an arm under his arms, as he waited restlessly for Raven to come out. In the dark, with a drunken Charles, he was very vulnerable – they were vulnerable.

Charles grunted and Erik absently pet his wavy curls. "My head hurts," groaned the telepath.

"That's probably the beginnings of a headache," mused Erik as Charles flinched again.

"No, it really hurts. Like…like when I go into peoples' heads." Muttered Charles. Erik pursed his lips. How was that possible? He realized Charles could better break into minds when he was drunk but why would it hurt? And if it did couldn't he just pull himself out of those minds?

"Maybe that's because _I _was in your mind." The sudden appearance of a blonde hadn't necessarily startled Erik. He'd seen Charles do the same thing to Raven on more than one occasion. It was something like tricking her mind into seeing him when he wasn't there, or making it seemed like he'd moved while he wasn't actually anywhere near her. Instinctively Erik bristled at her presence and it wasn't because of her skimpy white costume or her eerily perfect blonde curls but the predatory way she raked those brown eyes across both of them. Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

"Did you find them, Emma?" Erik heard a voice ask. The second person seemed not too far off but his intrusion wasn't what bothered Erik. What bothered him was the fact that the voice sounded…familiar.

"Yes," the blonde rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you want _another _telepath when you have me."

"Because you'll be going to Russia for me and this telepath is an _Xavier_." Purred the man. It was an older voice by the sound of it and the tone was too happy for Erik to like. He stepped in front of Charles and readily ripped up several light posts to show these two that Charles wouldn't go without a fight. In response the blonde turned her whole form completely diamond. Erik didn't care _who _saw; he wasn't about to let these people have Charles.

"And?" asked Emma, unamused by her partner's answer. Erik thrust his arm forward and the first light post shot past the blonde where her associate was waiting. Due to shock Erik dropped the lamp post. It was Shaw. Before the light completely disappeared from the familiar contours of his face – his mustache was gone, Erik noticed but his cheekbones were the same – Shaw's eyes twinkled curiously as if to ask if that was him.

"The government might sweat a bit if we capture a highly wealthy young man who could possibly fuel future war-preventing efforts."

"So you say. We make them sweat without this guy," Emma muttered into her nails. She'd only been brought along to track the telepath and block him if need be. Telepaths had that effect on one another; they could cancel each other out. That and Shaw liked her diamond form because it made her a force to be reckoned with.

"Little Erik Lehnsherr?" inquired Shaw in flawless German. Then Charles knew. That was the man…the man from Erik's nightmares. "I thought you died…" Shaw was unbelievably awed. How could he be alive?

Had the coroner mistaken him for dead? Did the soldier just think he was because his own fingers were cold from keeping watch? He could see Erik faking his death but little had been thought about him since his body was tossed in the pit. It was possible, Shaw reasoned, that he climbed out after they had left the pit but whatever had happened he was here! And how strong he'd become!

A far cry from the boy who couldn't move a coin.

"Herr doctor," hissed Erik. At this point he had no control. He realized the wild swell of panic, the fury, had shortened the fuse of his concentration, his mind, and that the metal surrounding him was very apparent. Everything pressed on his veins just like the pick that day, like the coin on his office desk. Charles quickly rearranged his brain chemistry as best he could – the tactic still wasn't perfect, he hadn't done it much – as the other telepath receded from his mind to take her diamond form.

_Raven stay inside. Don't question me, just obey. _Charles demanded. Few were out on the streets but he threw up a scene anyways. The ones that were out were probably drunk like him but he couldn't risk people seeing mutants so exposed. It would cause an uproar, he feared. They would be hunted and corralled like Erik always worried about.

"Emma," Shaw smiled to Erik like the boy hadn't died, like those tests had never hurt. "Be a good girl and get the telepath for me. Whistle for Azazel before you start."

"NO!" roared Erik and at once all nearby metal leapt from the windows, street lamps, and anything else disguising it to whirl around them. Emma was slightly taken aback by the floating menagerie of sharp, thick, jagged metal standing between her and the two men but knew her diamond skin could handle it. Ignoring the show, the shimmying metal, she puckered her lips in a whistle. Erik's furious concentration nearly broke when a man that looked like the devil himself appeared in a cloud of sulfurous red smoke. In a blink he was behind him and back in front of him.

Only with Charles.

Shaw merely smiled, brushing a hand along the curl closest to Charles right eyebrow. Something in Erik snapped when he realized the evaluating, carless way he looked at Charles. Like he would experiment on him just as he had done to him. Emma could do nothing but bunch her arms against her body as she walked towards the metal bender. The metal nicked her relentlessly but not at the right speed to cause cracks along her form and she continued to push the adamant pieces out of the way.

She knew what Shaw wanted her to do. He may want the government to sweat but he _really _wanted this guy to sweat. Apparently he'd been the one that'd gotten away. The one that could ruin him if he ever said anything. Shaw had been talking about him nonstop since Emma said the other telepath kept mentioning an 'Erik Lehnsherr'.

There was a chance it was someone who had been named in honor of the allegedly murdered boy but when Emma garnered from Charles' mind that this Erik Lehnsherr could move metal Shaw was beginning to think it was the same one. Nearly impossible but he knew it could be no descendant. The only Erik Lehnsherr he knew had died in the camps and they killed any children born to the girls while in the camps. He then decided he wanted to see Erik again. Even if that meant they'd have to use Charles to do so.

Emma had been taken off her feet by the sheer force behind the street lamp. Shortly after everything collapsed on her and began to beat her. Erik's hands trembled. He could feel the fury exhausting his strength but wouldn't stop until this girl was dead. THEN he'd worry about Shaw.

The female telepath rolled over to her stomach in her diamond form. Despite the metal pieces she crawled on her belly until she could reach the metal-bender's foot. Erik hissed as she balled up her sharp, hard fist and punched him as hard as she could in the ankle. For a second pain arched across his mind – pain like in the room, in Auschwitz – and he wondered if she'd broken the ankle. It certainly felt like she had.

That was all the opening Emma needed. The metal around her shivered…fluttered up and down rapidly as Erik struggled to refocus his mind despite the pain. She brought her foot up to nail him in the stomach, effectively winding him. Before Erik fell completely back, totally out of her range, Emma thrust her diamond-hard palm out with as much strength as she had and clapped him upside the head. Erik crumpled to the ground, able to see the colors of the sidewalk and bar front dancing between dark spots.

"We're done here. Let's go. Azazel." Erik recognized another _pop! _despite his aching head and managed to sit up. The act did nothing but make him feel utterly on fire with pain and dizzy but he had to find Charles. Where was Charles? Where had they taken him? He could feel warm, wet blood gush thickly between his fingers and wondered if he'd die of some sort of brain swelling before getting answers.

Finally Charles' presence receded from her mind. Raven had half a mind to lecture him for suddenly invading like that but the panic in his voice told him not to. Or what she thought was panic, as he mostly sounded drunk. She tried to pass the time by talking with this woman who'd come to see Charles – a woman named Moira MacTaggert – since he was outside but something didn't feel right. "I think he's still outside if you want to see him." Raven didn't care what Charles had told her, she was worried damnit!

"Should I come back tomorrow? He did look like he drank a bit."

"Ah he always does that. Charles' building up his immunity."

"Right…well let's see how coherent he is, shall we?"

"We shall," Raven mused. Though the smile died once she saw Erik laying in a pool of blood trying to stand. Pieces of metal and tangled street lamps littered the ground around him like someone had dropped them from the sky. "JESUS CHRIST! ERIK! ERIK WHAT HAPPENED? WHERE'S CHARLES?"

"Shaw," stuttered Erik as he continued to press his fingers to the oozing wound. "Shaw. Shaw took Charles. And a diamond telepath. Red teleporter. Fucking _SHAW!_"

"I knew it," hissed Moira. "How ironic," she frowned. "Let's get you taken care of." She tried to take Erik by the arm, to help Raven help HIM but he snatched his arm away.

"Who are you? What do you know? Why 'I knew it'?"

"The CIA asked me to find Charles. We want his help tracking Shaw."

"Take me with you. I'm not leaving him. And I won't let you find him alone."

"And I'll do that. We just need to get you cleaned up first," promised Moira. Raven's wet eyes and clenched hands around his arm was the only reason Erik relented.

* * *

><p>Every minute he'd spent getting cleaned up, stitched up, only pissed him off more. Getting back to the covert base alone had taken more time than Erik wanted. The blood transfusion and gentle admonishing of their on-base doctor – a young boy barely older than Raven – was getting harder and harder to take. Stitches he could take but why weren't they looking for Charles? Why the hell were they in a meeting?<p>

Why the FUCK weren't they looking for Charles?

Hank McCoy dabbed tentatively at the last of red trying to escape between the six stitches and tried to talk to the blonde, Raven, as the man in his chair looked like he wanted to rip the arms off. Or break everything in his lab as the genius was very aware of the noisy rattling of nearly anything metal. "Okay, I'm done. I'm stepping away. Would you like anything to drink? Maybe something to eat?" in response Erik threw a metal-lined ruler from the table full of vials and had it just graze the young man's scalp. He was in no mood to talk, eat, drink, or anything. Hank licked his dry lips nervously and nodded, stepping back six more steps.

Raven did want a drink, however, and wanted someone to tell her it would be okay and _god _just _speak _to her so she asked him where the kitchen area was. Best to get him away from Erik before he tried to kill him, anyways.

_Charles…please, please speak to me! _Erik didn't care if it was just a whisper. Just one letter. As long as he got _something_! He hoped the distance wasn't too much. Who knows where they were since they had a teleporter at their disposal?

_Erik_? The reply was very faint and Charles sounded mentally drowsy. Like he was just waking up, maybe.

_CHARLES! Where are you?_

_Not so loud…it hurts._

_I'm sorry, but where are you? I haven't heard from you in almost two hours! Are you okay?_

_I…I think I'm in Auschwitz._

_Wh—what?_

_The room looks just like the one from your memories except its mostly plastic now. Plastic where I'm laying and in the room I can see, the one connected to this one. Like a plastic doctor's office._

_Do you see anything identifying? _It could be where Shaw once held him but Erik wasn't sure if he'd be that stupid to go there again. Not when it had been cleared out and cleaned by the Americans. Or would he do it just because he was conceited? The room didn't sound the same but he had an icy feeling it was, the metal had just been removed because of what Shaw had done to him. He was afraid of retaliation.

_There's a sign on the wall. A German sign._

_What does it say?_

_Arbeit macht frei. Work brings freedom…right?_

_Yes, yes that's right. Stay very still Charles. I know where you are. I'm going to tell them and we'll get you and you'll be okay, alright?_

_I feel tired…_

_Don't go to sleep Charles!_

Ripping his mind away from Charles' at that very moment was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. Harder than moving the coin. Harder than surviving despite the death of his mother. Erik leapt from the chair and prowled the halls, looking for Moira. Luckily she'd been coming to check on him and had brought a portly man in a suit along with her. "Get me a plane. I know where he is."

"But that's impossible how can you—" Erik turned on the fat man and growled. His lips curled up drawn curtains and the man swallowed at the sight of his plentiful, sharp teeth.

"Do not question. We do not have time. Get me a plane."

"They'd need to know where before you took it."

"Shaw has him at Auschwitz and I swear to god if you ask me one more thing I will rip this place apart!" threatened Erik as the metal on their badges shook. He moved the larger things, like tables in the young man's lab, and made the window latches shake. They paled considerably.

"Platt go talk to McCone. I'll take him to the plane."

"Right…"

Moira desperately crooned to the pilot, as did Raven. Erik was not in the mood – she pointed that out – and his skepticism could get him killed. Charles would like her, Erik thought, the one calm idea in all of his fury. She was playing the peacemaker like he always had. Would, Charles wasn't gone yet. And wouldn't be if he had anything to say about it.

The coin hummed against the skin of his thigh despite his jeans and Erik growled again. "GET THE FUCKING PLANE IN THE AIR!" he wanted to scream, but he didn't have a voice with all the fury swirling in him. Shaking for him, folding up, and sliding off Erik paid a disheveled Moira no mind as she was thrown to the floor of the plane. Utterly terrified the pilot clasped the controls and only had real control of the plane once the engines started properly and Erik corked his rage. He would save it for Shaw and send the coin spinning so fast he wouldn't be able to see it by the time it halved his brain.

Or he would die trying.

No one, especially him, would take **his** Charles.

* * *

><p>"Do you realize that on your person you have two paper clips, one pen, four quarters, seven dimes, eight pennies, and two nickels?" inquired Shaw as he finally quit fishing around the heavily sedated telepath. Charles had rearranged his brain chemistry the last four injections but had finally reached a point where he was too tired to do so again. Shaw wasn't quite sure what he would do with him, yet, aside from letting Emma probe his mind before she left. At the moment he was too amused that Charles had exactly the right combination of odds and ends to match the numbers on Erik's arm. The blue eyes looked sleepily to him and Shaw could tell the sedative had worked this time.<p>

He looked like he was about to fall asleep.

"Erik…" whispered the telepath. He wasn't searching for an answer, waiting for Shaw's approval. He knew. Charles _always _kept Erik's numbers on his person in some way. It was like having Erik when him while he'd still been a ghost because he'd always sent him off to Raven.

"You _are _as smart as they say," mused Shaw. He looked to the door, expecting Emma. She should've been in here by now because in a half hour she needed to be in Russia. Shaw rolled his eyes, mumbling to himself. While she was a good teammate she did like to have her own agenda and take her sweet time.

It was that damned ego of hers. But he could stomach it so long as she did her job.

Erik pounced on the blonde dressed scantily in white before the even made it down the hall. Since the Americans had liberated the camp it was desolate, and no one would think to look for the telepath here, and no one would think to come help the telepath he had under his fingers, either. He was sure it was only her and Shaw here though she was trying to whistle which meant that teleporter couldn't be far.

At the last minute – against all instincts – Raven had run onto the plane. "He's my brother!" snapped the shape shifter and Erik couldn't deny that. She had clearly stolen various metal objects on her way towards the plane and now Erik was glad she had. The bulging bag jostled as the surprised female telepath squirmed against his hands and Erik snarled, pressing his full weight into her. If she didn't shut up he was going to _snap her neck_!

Thankfully she'd gone into her diamond form to fend him off, meaning she couldn't telepathically communicate according to the CIA's files. Before she could deal him a blow like she had Erik let the metal pieces rip the bag to shreds. The items – ranging from paper clips, to lanyards, and even name plates – twined together in a thick miss-matched chain wrapping tightly around her throat. She was struggling now while she had the last of her wits about her. Erik didn't care that she scratched him, the fact she was resorting to scratching and couldn't buck him off meant she was starting to feel the sheer pressure despite her diamond form.

His hands never once dropped from above her head. He wouldn't stop until she quit moving. Her diamond form shattered and Emma gasped for air. Erik kept his hands steady above her head.

"Erik, Erik please—"

"Shut up, Raven!" snapped Erik in German. Emma didn't care that he'd spat on her when giving the command. She couldn't breathe!

"Erik what about Charles?" at last the blonde slumped underneath him and Erik stepped off.

"Change into her," commanded Erik as he pointed to her. Nervously, never seeing Erik so mad as to notice that vein in his head, Raven nodded. Erik was staring at a perfect copy of Emma, one he'd rather not kill. He untangled the pieces, trying to calm his mind, and reshaped them into the sharpest thing possible as he hid by the wayside, Raven picking up Emma's abandoned path. There was only one room at the end of the hall and she knew her brother was behind it.

They had agreed he'd count to ten before doing anything but Erik could hardly think straight, let alone count properly. He was so MAD! At last he'd gotten to ten and Erik ripped the door off its hinges, spinning it about so that the heavy metal-adorned part flew forward into Shaw's surprised face. Raven ducked and was busy trying to drag Charles sedated body out of the room.

Shaw made a move to stand, to go after them, and Raven dropped her disguise. She _dared _him with her yellow eyes to so much as step towards her brother. The old man paused, amused. "You're beautiful," he whispered in awe of Raven. Erik brought the door down on his face again.

And again. And again. There was no end to the tempting rhythm. He could hear Shaw gasping for coherency and air as the blood spatter flew around the room when the door lifted time and time again. Erik would not stop until this man was dead. He hoped he died slowly.

"You will not touch my family. You will not take anything else away from me!" said Erik in the lowest of growls Raven had ever heard as the sharp objects from his bag dropped heavily towards the door pinning him flat against the floor. If there was any doubt the man was in pain there wasn't now. Erik pulled the door up to find Shaw neatly pinned by the various crude spikes he'd made. With a flick of his hand the spikes dislodged and spun around to pin him from the front. Blood sputtered from his mouth as he gasped and Erik almost didn't recognize him without the glasses, mustache, and vague presence of vulnerability on his face.

Did he not like the monster he had made?

"Your tests worked well, Doctor," mused Erik. "But maybe too well. Remember this coin? Look at this coin. I want you to see it…" the coin from so long ago floated out of his pocket and Shaw watched with wide blue eyes as it drifted closer. It was close enough for him to see the detail and smell the all-too-iron scent of it. "Watch the coin doctor because it's going to disappear."

"I—I made you…" stuttered Shaw. Erik glared hotly at him, causing the door and his pinning pieces to rattle.

"The only thing you made me was pissed," replied Erik coolly. Revenge was so close he could _taste _it.

"Powerful…" wheezed Shaw. "I made you power…ful…"

"No…" Erik would never admit Shaw had given him anything to feel successful about. If anything Shaw made his mutation feel like a curse. But Charles…Charles did away with that feeling. When he looked at Erik, watched him tease metal Erik actually felt proud. Loved.

"He did," nodding his head slightly to Charles Erik waited only a second longer. Only enough to tell Raven to shut her eyes and walk as far away as possible. He didn't want them to see him like this. So angry…

Raven couldn't hold Charles anymore. He was so heavy! The loud, anguished cry startled her anyways. Charles groaned as he was dropped and she whispered apologies, sweet nothings, as the screaming continued. Erik would be done, come out, and they would all go home and it would all be okay.

Those screams didn't sound like Erik, anyways. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they stopped. Erik walked quietly out of the hall be speckled in blood. His newly purchased shoes squelched in the blood and his face was clean but his hands weren't. Probably from handling his tools since she saw the pieces in his arms.

Erik dropped them all, ignoring the dark stain from the bloodied coin and the fact that his jeans had been ruined. Shaw was definitely dead. He'd run the coin through his brain enough times so that a clear trail could be seen and one could look through it as if they were staring past a keyhole. "Is he okay?"

"Unconscious, I think. Hank will know what to do once we get him back to the base."

"I imagine it's a sedative." Erik looked him over. For the most part Charles looked unscathed. He imagined they got there before anything had really happened. Shaw had probably tried to dope him up in order to get answers. Cooing to his boyfriend Erik sighed as gently collected the lump in his arms, letting Raven carry out his instruments. He was strapped into the plane not even twenty minutes later, right next to Erik, and watched carefully on the flight home.

Moira would have good news for her superiors and he and Raven could see to it that Charles recovered. Evidence of good cheer at Shaw's death showed itself when even the young scientist, Hank, had been invited to a small party they were cobbling together in the kitchen. The boy declined, of course, because he had a patient to attend to. In the wee small hours of the morning when twilight gave way to powder blue skies and the stars receded Charles stirred. Ultimately Hank had fallen asleep because even he had to obey the need of replenishing himself, and Charles let him sleep.

Raven was no better, sleeping in the extra chair that had been taken from his study area. Erik was the only one awake. Charles' eyes fluttered. "For a moment I saw the light," he laughed, "and I thought I was back in that room. With him."

"No, you're here with me. And Raven. You're safe. We're at the CIA base. Apparently I wasn't the only one who wanted Shaw."

"That place was awful," croaked Charles. "Like a nightmare."

"Don't think about it anymore," urged Erik. He kissed Charles' forehead, then his eyes. The telepath looked so tired. "It's just a bad dream now. He won't be able to get you anymore. I took care of him." Charles shifted, using his elbows to prop him up higher on the bed. There were no wounds to speak of per se – mental damage, probably – but he felt tired, heavy, and sore from all the attempted fighting he'd done before that teleporter disappeared.

"You can say it's a bad dream but it's not over. People will always be trying to get us." mused Charles sullenly. Erik sighed. He was right about that but that didn't mean Charles had to frown about it. After all, he was here now, and he would protect him. Them, because people would surely be after Raven, too.

"They can try but I won't let them have you." Charles laughed, a real grin lighting his face.

"I couldn't see it any other way."

Erik smiled and patted his hand softly. Neither could he.


End file.
